deadspider
by jaceyrose18
Summary: Kung biyaan ka sa imong uyab,Yaw pagpogngi ug kon sya mo balik gakusa sya ug hughungi"lami na kayo ko noh?Saon taman dili naman ko imo.
1. Chapter 1

chapter 1

Deadpool downed his bourbon and wiped his mouth on the back of his glove.

"I'm telling you, ladies," he flung his arm around the shoulders of the sexy dolls cuddled up on either side of him, "This is gonna be a night to remember. You wouldn't believe the hoops I had to jump through to get this guy. For a second, I almost considered fucking it and shooting him - Bam! Between the eyes - just to spare myself the pain of handing over his pretty paycheck. Then I thought to myself, 'Wade. If ya do the job tha' I know ya can do, and he's really all that and a bag of chippies, when are ya gonna see something this awesome again?' Then it came to me. If he lives up to the hype, I contract him again. If he doesn't, then I get to claim extortion and unalive him."

They laughed at his antics and made sexy noises about how clever he was while they fondled his chest and thighs. He indulged in each of them, sipping champagne from the white one's lips and wine from her sister's.

Then he saw the ravers sliding past the limousine window. The line ran up the street and turned the corner up ahead.

Wade whistled, "Damn. I haven't seen a turn out like this since Christmas. This guy might just be worth it after all."

He pulled his mask back down over his chin, and rapped on the window separating them from the driver. The chauffeur pulled around and dropped them off at the curb. "Go treat yourself," Wade dropped a roll of bills on the passenger seat, "and thanks for the ride."

With a doll on each arm, he strolled past the line and up to the bouncer, who let them through with a glance and a nod. Inside, The HellHouse was a thriving mass of bodies gyrating against each other on the dance floor. Naked women performed on platforms while others in scant uniforms carried drink-laden trays to the tables.

Over the crowd, Wade saw the bartender flag him down. "You dolls go on ahead," he told them with a judicious pat on their backsides, "I'll catch up. Daddy's got to take care of a bit of business."

They tittered and he waved. Once they disappeared into the crowd, he wove his way toward the bar. "What's the word? Has our Hero of the Night graced us with his presence?"

The bartender leaned forward, "They said he came in through the back half an hour ago, Boss, but no one's seen him since. He's not in the dressing room and security hasn't been able to find him anywhere." He leaned closer, "I don't like it. I can feel it in my bones. It's the real one, and he's loose somewhere in the club. You've gotta call this off."

Wade grinned and hooked his arm around the bartender's neck, "You know I almost hope you're right. It's been an age since my baby boy and I last danced, but tell me something. What do you know about the genuine article?"

"I know he's been snooping around the area. Word is he's taken a turn, and will stop at nothing to get whatever poor sod he's chasing down."

"Ha!" Wade let the man go and tossed his head, "We're not talking about The Batman here, Styks. I'd-."

"Batman?"

Wade waved his question off, "Wrong 'verse. Never mind. Anyway, as I was saying, I'd pay good money to see that sweet piece of ass stop at nothing just once in my life, but that's not how my boy operates. 'Cause, you see, he is the genuine article, a hero's hero, noble to a fault and bound by his principles. You would never find him slumming in a house of sin like this for cash."

"I'm glad that's cleared up." Wade looked up at the scathing voice. Two of Wade's security personnel hauled a young man up to the bar. "Can we ditch the butt monkeys, please?" he jerked his arms free of their grasp.

Wade dismissed them with a nod and leaned his hip against the bar, stroking his chin as he looked the stranger over. He didn't look much like the night hero he'd heard so much about. In fact, he didn't look like much of anything. Loose pants sagged over scuffed sand-shoes, whose laces dragged on the floor. His equally over sized hoodie was sun-bleached and the hood drooped low over his black shades.

"You," the stranger slammed his gloved fist on the bar and pointed to Styks, "You've been telling stories since I got here, and I don't appreciate it. I'm here to make a scene, and get paid. That's it. If I hear one more of your wild accusations, I'll find your boss and make sure he knows that, because of you, half this crowd is now aware of the illicit deals going down in the back rooms, 'as we speak.'" He flexed his fingers to affect air quotations, "Now get me a shot of vodka."

Wade shot a hot glare at Styks while the man skulked away, "Make it two." The stranger snorted, and looked over at Wade, "Just who are you supposed to be, then?"

"Deadpool, at your service," he effected a bow, "Been out of town for a while, but you're all I've heard about since I've got back. Except, well, you know," he indicated the mask the other man wore beneath his hood and shades.

The printed spandex stretched around his sneer, "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment, Mr. Pool?"

Styks came back with their drinks. Before Wade reached for his shot, the stranger rolled his mask over his mouth with a practiced motion and tossed back the liquor. "Gah!" he slammed the little glass down, riding the alcohol's kick before he pulled his mask back down over his face.

"Damn, that's good shit," he pushed off the bar, "My compliments to the house. See you later, 'Deadpool.'"

Wade raised his glass to the man's back, "Break a leg."

The other man lifted his hand in acknowledgement and vanished. Wade pulled over one of his security personnel and told them to make sure Styks didn't disappear before they'd a chance to talk. With that done, he went looking for the sexy dolls.

The heavy music pounded against the walls, forcing the patrons to shout, or lean close to be heard. When he wasn't indulging in the evening's dolls Wade surveyed his domain with a critical eye, taking the measure of his current manager. At a glance, the place was spotless. However, little things drew his narrowed eye: a table balanced on two feet instead of four, a crack in a leather seat, the worn-down polish on the platforms.

When did the HellHouse start contracting out for performers anyway? The girls had always been enough before now. Never mind that the night seemed to be paying off so far. This Night Hero was a gamble on every front, not the least of which risking the real hero's attention.

The music faded out and the lights went dark. Quietly, the girls left their platforms.

"Now, Ladies and Demons alike," the DJ's voice came over the speakers, low and enunciated, "turn your eyes to the stage. Tonight, it's my great pleasure to announce New York's own Hero of the Night, Spiderman!"

Black lights came on over the stage, casting the club in a fey radiance. The crowd hushed as the first beats of Marilyn Manson's – Sweet Dreams began to pump through the air. The sequined curtain shifted, and Deadpool leaned forward in his seat.

Spiderman's boot fell into the light first, the white spider-web design radiant against the black material. The second boot followed, bearing with it the rest of him. On the stage, Spiderman moved with slow, powerful deliberation. The angled eyes on his black mask radiated a hypnotizing glare as he turned his gaze to one side, and then the other. For just a second, Wade caught his eye and flashed back to the last time he and old Spidey crossed paths.

The performer didn't linger on him, though. Wade released a shuddering breath as he let his gaze feast on the rest of the man strutting on stage before him.

Spiderman's mask stopped at his collarbone. From there, skintight spandex spread down his arms and chest in black straps that left great spans of glitter-dusted flesh exposed. Over these straps, the white spider web pattern continued, practically painted on his skin. Lean biceps flexed under the light. Gloved hands splayed against the white spider plastered across his chest, stroked out over peaking nipples and ran down his sides to his hips. The exotic costume left Spiderman's abdomen bare to the clefts of his hips. A black speedo was the only thing holding the man's bulging junk in place, before more painted straps spread down his legs to meet his boots.

Wade swallowed when Spiderman stopped between two dance polls at the front of the stage, arms held out and head bowed down. On beat, several lengths of white silk dropped from the ceiling around the stage. Spiderman shot a fierce look up into the crowd, and then jumped, executing a back flip and grabbing the silk with all the deftness of the real thing.

Wade watched, entranced, as he entangled his body in the simulated webbing and contorted in the most suggestive ways for their pleasure. Every move was grace, every transition was perfection. With momentum, he orbited around the stage and let go. With one hand and both feet, he stuck the landing on the dancing pole, and stroked himself to the screams of the crowd.

If the aerial dance had been about grace, the pole was about strength. He wrapped his limbs around the shaft, performing feat after breathtaking feat. Each pose transitioned smoothly from the one that came before. At last, he dismounted. Then, right there on stage, practically fucked himself for their pleasure. Every display of flexibility he'd shone before was but a warm up for this act. Sweet mother of milk, it shouldn't be possible for a body to bend that way.

Wade lost all sense of perspective in the performance. The voices in his head stilled and for a time this creature before him became Spiderman. Those arms. That ass. The beautiful package straining for release. He envisioned them all, and imagined how they would feel beneath his hands. He'd make that body bend to his will. Come for me, Baby boy. I know you want to.

At the climax, Spiderman leapt onto the polls. Racing from one to the next, he executed a last magnificent display of gymnastic grace and landed on the edge of the stage: a perfect superhero landing. When he lifted his head to look out into the crowd, the entire club erupted into rapturous screams and fistfuls of money started shaking in the air. Spiderman rose to his feet and bowed before the lights went out.

When the main lights returned, the stage was empty, the hems of the silk ropes disappearing into the ceiling. Wade realized he was close to rubbing himself off and withdrew his hand with the application of sheer willpower.

Oh, Spidey, Baby Boy… Things just got interesting.

SSSS-

I have two unbreakable rules."

Chapter Text

Spider counted the bills in the manager's office, with the man present. He checked and rechecked the contracted base pay, and tucked it into an envelope. Then he turned his attention to the tips he'd earned that night. He and the manager counted these three times each before splitting the agreed upon percentage.

With this kind of dough, he could almost consider quitting his day job. Almost.

The manager set a stack of bills on the desk in front of him, "There it is. Thirty-one grand and change." Spider glanced up at the man, noted how his index finger tapped the top of the desk, and then crossed his leg over his knee to begin counting again.

"Christ, it's all there. With the trouble you've been, you really think I'm about to screw you over now."

"I think you've been trying to screw me over from the beginning," Spider informed him flatly, "Not to mention how I've been treated since I got here. You're lucky the night was profitable, or I'd put this whole damn place on my blacklist." The fat man behind the desk blanched and he smiled.

Once he'd verified nothing had been skimmed off the top, Spider tucked the tips into the envelop with his base fee and stood, "I'd say it was a pleasure doing business with you, but I see little point as your name's already blacklisted."

"What?" the man spluttered.

Spider tucked his money into the pocket of his hoodie, and looked the scumbag in the eye, "I don't want to see you again. Tell your boss that if the HellHouse ever hopes to contract my services again, he'll deal with me directly."

He felt the electric tingle as soon as he turned his back, and locked his muscles when he heard the click of a gun hammer. "Sit back down, you little shit-faced cunt. Who the hell do you think you are, that you can waltz in here and disrespect me like that?"

Hands still in his hoodie pocket, Spider palmed the cartridge he kept in a hidden pouch. He turned slowly, looking down the barrel of the scumbag's gun into his purple-flushed face.

"Do you honestly think I went to all that trouble just to let you walk out on me, Freak? For forty thousand dollars, I own your ass. You'll live where I tell you, eat what I tell you, and fuck whoever I tell you to."

"And if I refuse," Spider asked, tilting his head back, and shifting his weight just so, "Just what exactly do you think you can do to me?"

The manager pulled his flabby lips into a lewd sneer, sweat dripping down the sides of his bald head, "There's a sweet little thing I've got my eye on. I believe the two of you are acquainted."

Spider caught is breath.

Another electric tingle breathed against his neck.

A gun barked. The sound ricocheted through the room. A perfect circle appeared between the manager's eyes. The same instant, his flabby body contracted, pulling the trigger.

Spider dropped to the floor. The bullet tore across his shoulders, shredding cloth and carving a scorching trail along his flesh.

It was over in an instant, but the entire sequence of events felt like they'd transpired across an hour.

"Holy shit, are you all right?"

Spider jumped at the sound of pounding feet and landed on the desk, ready to fight. Deadpool stopped in his tracks, hands raised, gun pointed at the ceiling. "Whoa there, Sugar Tits. I'm not gonna hurt you. I just saved your life."

"You almost ended it!" Spider shouted and jumped off the table, "What the hell were you thinking? If I hadn't ducked when I did, I'd be dead."

"Yeah, but you did duck and you're fine," he sheathed his gun and held out his arms, "Which, by the way, that was awesome! How often do you get to see someone dodge a literal fucking bullet, am I right? Not to mention the figurative one. Which, I suppose I should thank you for. You saved me the trouble of tracking down this bag of shit-scum to find out what he's been pulling behind my back."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spider asked, stepping out of Deadpool's path as the mercenary stalked around the desk. With a roundhouse kick, Deadpool knocked the dead man onto the floor and stomped on his flabby face.

Spider averted his eyes, fists clenched. 'I'm not here to get involved.'

"I'm sorry sweetcakes, you were saying something?" Deadpool looked up at him, and then the white eyes of his mask widened. "Oh, don't you know? I own this joint," he indicated the building, "Been out of town for a while. Business, you understand. Can you imagine my surprise, though, when I get back to find flyers about how 'Spiderman' is coming to perform a strip tease at my club? I just about lost my shit. And damn, can I just say what a pleasure it was, watching you up there." He came around the desk with hand raised, about to clap Spider on the shoulder when he stopped.

"Damn, kid. We ought to get that looked at. Come on, I keep a med kit on hand."

"Its fine," Spider took a step away when Deadpool caught his arm.

"Don't be an idjit. Much as you're a fine imitation on stage, you ain't no Spiderman. He'd have been on the ceiling before I cocked my gun to take that loser out. Now come on. I may not be no fancy doctor, but I know I thing or three about how to patch a guy up. This way."

He sighed and let himself be lead him out of the office, stopping only at an intercom so Deadpool could order cleanup. They came to a small infirmary with bright lights and minimal furnishings. There were cabinets stocked with disinfectants and bandages, and several medicinal tools waited on hand.

"Go on and take that monstrosity off," Deadpool indicated his shirt before unstrapping his gloves, "Just what the hell are you doing anyway, dressing like that when you make the kind of mulla you did tonight?"

Spider grimaced and made a show of easing the shirt over his head, "Trying to stay inconspicuous on the way here and back."

"Oh, don't tell me you walk it," Deadpool tugged the rest of the shirt over Spider's head and tossed it onto the floor. "At least take a cab. I mean, come on. It's a nasty part of town. Sit," he indicated the bench with a pair of medical scissors, "This costume of yours is dead, right?"

"I should charge you the replacement cost," he muttered.

"Do it. It's sort of my fault anyway." Spider hissed when he felt the spandex pull off his skin and listened to the snip-snip of the scissors. "Damn," Deadpool breathed, "You lucked out kid, but it still split the skin. I can stitch you up, but I can't guarantee it won't scar."

"It's your pocketbook if it does scar."

"Oh, goodie. Let's see then…"

Spider closed his eyes and breathed, feeling the mask pull against his nostrils with each inhalation while the merc threaded the plastic line through his skin. For a time, there was blessed silence. The man's touch was surprisingly gentle, despite the rough, pebbled texture of his hands. Then he felt a finger trail down his back, following the line of one of the spandex straps, and started to rise.

"Oh, sit back down," Deadpool's hand cupped his shoulder and held him until he relaxed, "I'm not about to molest you. Unless you want me to, in which case, whoot! Where do you want to hang? Get it? Hang." He let out a little laugh, and then returned to a softer tone, "Seriously, though, I feel kinda bad about this, and I was thinking that I want to make it up to you. A little spider told me you like to let people entertain you after a performance, and, well, I've got a nice-ish place nearby and-."

"Two rules," Spider interrupted him, holding up a pair of fingers.

"What?"

"Call it a policy. I have two unbreakable rules. That dirt bag back there couldn't respect them, so he got blacklisted."

Deadpool hummed, and tied off the last stitch, "I heard something about a blacklist. Seems like a dangerous thing to do, if it gets you shot at." He tossed the needle and remaining supplies in the trash, "But maybe that's just me. So," he hopped up on the table, hooked an arm around one knee, and let the other leg dangle, "Tell me the rules, Sugar Tits."

Feeling a blush creep up his cheeks, he thanked that powers that be for his mask and gave his shoulders a cautious test roll to cover his hesitation.

"First," he held up one finger, "the mask never comes off, literally or otherwise. Any attempt to do so constitutes a breach of contract, and I sever ties right then and there. Hence, the cash only policy. Also," he pointed to the waste basin, "I will see those things burnt or sterilized before I leave here."

Deadpool blinked and cocked his head, "Well that's a little paranoid, don't you think?"

"My body. My service. My rules." He turned in his seat to address Deadpool directly, "Which leads me to the second rule. I never do anything I don't want to. I perform only when it pleases me to do so, and never at any other time. I never sign a contract I don't like. While it's true that I have, on occasion, let a client or patron entertain me after a show, I do so only at my leisure. I accept gratuity when it's offered freely, but I'm not a whore."

"I never said you were, Honey Butt," Deadpool said, significantly less enthused, and looked away, "But I can also read between the lines. You don't want to hang with me. It's cool." He shrugged and pulled a bulging envelope from his belt behind his back. "Gratuity," he tossed it with a negligent flick of his wrist, "Freely given."

Spider caught the package and peeked inside. Flipping the corners of the bills with his thumb, he had to resist the urge not to whistle at the stack of Franklins. Meanwhile, Deadpool put the metal trashcan on top of the table and began pouring rubbing alcohol over the contents. He watched as, just like that, Deadpool held up a match, struck it, and dropped it into the can.

SSSSS-

I never said I wouldn't enjoy your company," Wade remembered the little spider saying over the burning trashcan, "But I don't want to waste our time if we're not compatible."

Chapter Text

Deadpool unlocked the door to his playhouse and held it open to let his guest inside. Oh sweet breast milk, there was that damn tingle again. It shot straight to his loins as the little spider pushed back his hood and stepped into his parlor. The costume was wrong, of course - Spidey would never wear something so... exotic. Yet, it was also so right. If he turned his head just so and squinted, he could let his mind fill in the blanks and believe he'd scored the real thing.

Spider dropped his bag by the door. Removing his shades, he tucked them into that damn hoodie and looked around the vaulted space with an appreciative whistle.

Fuck the costume. The costume was perfect. Those homeless rags had to go. He should be strutting that luscious body around like the prize beauty it was, not covering it up as if it was some object of shame.

Do we really want him showing that ass off to anyone else, though?

It's not our ass to keep, idiot.

Not yet, it's not. He wants to play by his rules, so we'll play by the rules and we'll win.

Wade shook his head in a vain attempt to dispel the voices and shut the door. "What's your poison, Honey Butt? I got a fully stocked liquor cabinet."

"I've had enough to drink tonight, thanks," he turned his upper body to look back at Wade, "A glass of cool water would be lovely though."

"Your call, Little Spider," he waved and fetched some liquor for himself.

'Damnit,' he thought, 'Tank the chances of happy ending right out the gate, why don't you.' He let the water run until it was chill from the tap before filling the glass.

We could spike it. If the liquor's smooth enough, he shouldn't notice.

What happened to playing by his rules?

What the fuck are the rules anyway?

Fuck if I know. I wasn't listening. He lost me at the word compatible.

The first voice squeed loud enough to give him tinnitus, He was thinking about whether or not we're compatible, wasn't he? That was so adorable. As if he could dish out something we couldn't handle.

"I never said I wouldn't enjoy your company," Wade remembered the little spider saying over the burning trashcan, "But I don't want to waste our time if we're not compatible."

He said compatible!

'Shut it. I'm trying to remember.'

"Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?" He was pretty sure he'd said something like that.

"It means that I get laid as I please, but I don't lay down for anyone, if you catch my meaning."

Wade cleared his throat. "So, Little Spider, you want to lay down the law for me?" He turned with both glasses in hand and froze when he found his guest standing chest to chest with him, sans homeless rags. Oh god, he was even hotter up close, and he still had opal powder on his skin.

"That part's actually quite simple," he said in sultry tones and slipped the end of his thumb beneath his mask, "I am the law." Uncovering his mouth, he took Wade's wrist in hand, – the one holding the water – drew it to his lips, and turned it so that Wade was pouring the fluid down his throat.

Wade swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry as he watched the little spider down the whole glass in one smooth draw. He never once broke eye contact. At least Wade was pretty sure he never broke eye contact. He couldn't actually see his eyes behind the static spandex mask.

Once he finished, he trailed his lips across the rim of the glass, lapping up the last lingering droplets of water.

"Tonight, Mr. Pool," he nudge the glass to the side and closed all but the last breath of distance between them, "I am lord and my word is law. But I'm not without benevolence." He eased back then and Wade released a gasp he hadn't realized he'd been holding, "Now's your chance to lay down your own laws, and make your requests. What am I forbidden to do to you? What boundaries do you wish uncrossed? What is it you most want me to do to you?"

Wade didn't know what possessed him to say it. He couldn't even blame the voices in his head. For the second time that night, they'd gone silent. Perhaps that was why though. In that blessed silence, there was a startling clarity and he knew exactly what he wanted.

"Be Spiderman," his voice came out a rough whisper, but he didn't care. It's what he wanted. From the moment he laid eyes on this glitter-speckled dream, it was the only thing he wanted. "For one god-damn night, please. Let me have my hero."

There was a faint twitch in the other man's lips, which Wade couldn't read. Then he stepped back, and Wade felt a part of him die a little as he pulled his mask down, closing even that tiny window. It was over then.

"I can't decide if you really are, or if you just enjoy playing the fool, Deadpool." Wade's breath caught at the shift in the other man's voice. Spider turned his body to assume a power stance, arm raised, wrist cocked back, middle fingers flexed. "And to think you let me into your home. You can't hide from me now, nor ever again."

Another squee started to build up inside his head. There was a pounding to, right there, behind his temple, which made him squint. "What are you talking about?" He had to be sure, "You're can't really be..."

"I am," the other snapped, "I am Spiderman, and I've got you right where I want you, Deadpool."

SSSS-

"Tell me you surrender, and I will stop. Do you understand?"

Chapter Text

Spider wasn't sure what to expect from Deadpool. In fact, he wasn't even certain this was the right way to kick off the night. Deadpool was dangerous and unpredictable, and that damn bartender had already planted the idea in his head that he actually was the real Spiderman. If Pool honestly thought he was cornered, he'd fight back and Spider knew damn well those weapons weren't just there for show.

All this ran through his head as he assumed the power pose and declared his identity, by which point he was committed. His only chance, now, was to stay the course and give no ground if he wanted to make it through this night unscathed.

His word was law. If he said he was Spiderman, then he was Spiderman. End of story.

And then Deadpool spoke.

"Spidey, Baby! It really is you, isn't it!" Deadpool pitched his voice into a girl-like squeal, and completely derailed Spider's entire train of thought. "Nice sting, Baby Boy, well done," he applauded, "I gotta admit, even I didn't see it coming. I mean come on; Spiderman, pretending to be an exotic dancer whose pretending to be Spiderman? How did you even come up with that shit? Brilliant!"

"It wasn't difficult," Spider retorted automatically, slipping into the familiar banter and running with it,  
"All I had to do was remember you think with your dick. Not only did you fall for it, but you brought me right into your lair. I know everything now, you cock-sucking bastard. By the time this night is through, you'll be crawling to the police and begging them to arrest you."

"Such promises, Spidey," Deadpool dropped his voice an octave, "But I've got a better idea."

The electric charge zipped down the back of his neck. Heart pounding, Spider dropped into an aggressive stance, ready to launch at the merc. Deadpool's eyes widened and Spider saw his mask pull into his mouth with his sharp intake of breath.

"What's the matter, Baby Boy?" Slowly, Deadpool unsheathed the pistol at his hip and held it out to the side, "You're not afraid of me, are you?" With a swipe of his thumb, the magazine fell out of the gun and clattered across the marble tiled floor. "I promise," he brought the weapon around, and Spider saw the trigger finger extended along the barrel of the gun, "this'll hurt me a lot more than it'll hurt you."

Spider held his breath, heart racing, muscles quivering. The tingle became a burning charge that lifted his hair on end. Still moving with slow deliberation, Deadpool pulled back on his weapon and ejected the bullet in the chamber.

Spider's sense of time narrowed until he felt every factional second like a minute. In that time, the bullet was the only thing that moved. It glinted as it tumbled over itself again and again, before it finally dinged on the floor.

Behind the gun, Deadpool's mask tightened over his shit-eating grin. He pulled the trigger and the hammer cut through the painful silence with a hollow click.

The electric charge coiling around Spider's spine discharged in an explosion of speed and energy. With a single leap, he closed the distance and slammed Deadpool into the wall. Using his momentum, he jumped off his chest and executed a backflip in midair, pushed off the opposite wall and dove for his discarded bag.

"Ah. What's the matter, Spidey? I thought you wanted to play."

Spider spared a glance back as he grabbed the strap of his bag. Deadpool was strolling casually toward him, emptied gun still trained on him. The first click sent a shot of adrenalin coursing through him as Spider rolled to the side, and the next lit his nerves like fireworks. Legs coiled beneath him, he thrust down, launched into the air, and caught the metal beam that crossed the large, open space.

He dodged the next click with a deft kick of his legs, orbiting around the beam and landing on top of it in classic Spiderman form. Only then, with his knees spread wide for balance, did he feel the pressure of the spandex against his breathtaking need.

"It's over, Wade," He shouted, reaching in his bag and throwing the long sheets of silk over the merc. Deadpool shouted and flailed. Wasting no time, Spider dropped down, snatched up a length of silk, and vaulted over Deadpool's head. In moments, he had the man trapped in a cocoon of silk and knocked him to the floor.

"Now," he pressed Deadpool's masked face to the floor and bent down to growl in his ear, "You're mine." He bit down on the spandex-covered lobe, drawing sharp gasp from his writhing captive, "I'm not going to bother calling the police to pick up your filthy ass this time. Not until I'm good and finished with you."

He pressed down harder, to accolades of wanton, "Oh God, please. Yes!"

"The courts are too good for you. Count them down, Deadpool, because I'm going to make you pay for every last thing you've done. I swear, I will make you beg for mercy until you surrender," he enunciated the word with sharp clarity and gave the man's head an extra press for good measure, "Then, and only then, will I turn you over to the authorities."

Deadpool let out a hysteric giggle, "You underestimate me, Baby. You can't break Deadpool. It'll be a long, cold night in hell before I surrender to you."

"Good," he shoved up from Deadpool's head and planted a knee in the merc's back, "I'm counting on it."

He took his time securing Deadpool to his satisfaction. First, the weapons had to go. Starting with his guns, he divested the man of every blade, firearm, and explosive he could find. All the while, he kept Deadpool pinned with his arm pressed against his back beneath Spider's knee. Then, once the gloves and boots were gone, he began to bind him.

Hands behind his back, he tied Pool's wrists up with silk, and then wrapped the cloth around both his arms again and again until they were cocooned up to his shoulders.

Beneath him, Pool was breathing hard enough to cloud up the cool tile beside his face, "What are you gonna do?" he asked in a breathy croak as Spider tied the last knot.

"What's the matter, Honey Butt?" Spider cooed as he spread his hand over Pool's leather-covered ass. "You're not afraid of me," he brought his hand down in an open-palmed slap to the firm orb, eliciting a start from the man beneath him, "are you?" He smacked the other cheek with just a touch more force than the one before. "I thought you wanted to play, Deadpool," another slap, this time on top of the first. Pool yelped and strained against his bindings, but the silk held. "Don't tell me you're ready to surrender?"

"Never," Pool shouted at the next slap. "Never give up. Never surrender." Spider landed one last blow, as hard as he dared, right between the cheeks and listened to the accolades that followed.

Smiling, Spider leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Have it your way then." With one hand, he grabbed the merc's mask and pulled his head back. With the other, he looped a length of silk around his eyes and tied it behind his head.

Deadpool gasped as his vision went dark and wriggled on the floor like a landed fish when Spider released him. For a time, Spider just knelt there, watching the man whimper and strain on the floor before him. The sight was intoxicating, and he'd only just begun.

'Stop. Breathe. Don't get carried away.'

"Spidey," Deadpool's needy whine, touched with uncertain fear, pulled on him like a taught bowstring and threatened to undo him right there. He gasped in a silent gulp of air and willed his body back under his control. "Spidey, where are you?" Pool's voice hiked an octave, "Spiderman?"

Spider pressed his hand to the back of the merc's neck and dug in his fingers. Deadpool jerked and arched his head up, capturing his hand between his skull and his shoulders. "I'm here," Spider issued the words like a command, "Now breathe." He felt the man's whimper through his glove, but sure enough he began to breathe deeply again. Spider held him like that until he'd eased back onto the floor and stopped struggling.

"Tell me you surrender, and I will stop. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Deadpool exhaled the word like a prayer, "Yes Spidey. I understand."

He flexed his grip on the man's neck, "Say it once, so I know you can."

"I…" Deadpool stuttered and started to wiggle again.

Spider gave his neck a calculated shake, "Prove to me you can say it, or this ends now."

He could see the tension building in Pool's body, watched the struggle in the lines of his mask. Then, all at once, that tension evaporated, "I surrender."

Dawn was blushing through the window when Spider finally made himself get up to leave.

When all was said and done, they'd both spent themselves silly. He carried Pool to the bed and tucked him in, intent on slipping away as soon as he was asleep. Instead, the merc pulled him down with him and wrapped him in his heavy arms, mumbling fearful little pleas, begging him to stay. It went against his better judgement, but he'd worked the man harder than he dared to with anyone else, and rationalized it as further aftercare.

He never meant to fall asleep, but watching the red spandex ebb and flow with his breath like waves on the beach: it was hypnotic and soothing. Besides, there was no one to see him when he let his forehead rest against the man's shoulder, or how he felt the pebbled texture of Deadpool's side through his suit.

That was all done, though. He was going to pay dearly for last night as it was. It was time to go home.

Pool didn't move as he eased out of his arms. With long-practiced stealth, he retrieved the silks and returned them to his bag, along with condoms, lube, and other little toys he carried along when he performed, just in case. His back ached when he pulled the pants up over his costume and he felt a hollow form in his chest as he belted them to his hips.

Once he was fit for public and had confirmed all his possessions were in place, he started to leave. A soft tingle brushed against his neck. He looked back.

Pool was standing by the door, a robe pulled over his sullied uniform, mask still in place.

"You were going to leave without saying goodbye?" he asked softly.

Spider averted his eyes, "It's best if I don't stay."

"It was… amazing." Pool fidgeted with the sash on his robe, "Do you think we could…"

"It was for me to. Really." He offered a little shrug and looked back, "Who knows. Good as it was, it'd be nice to go all out."

Deadpool visibly perked up, "That wasn't all out."

Spider smiled, "No. Most people are too… fragile."

"I can't wait," he could hear the lust in the man's voice, "How do I contact you?"

He held up a finger, "Rule number one. You don't." He smiled to soften the blow and held up a second finger, "But rule number two says don't worry about it. I'll contact you."

"Really?" he asked, doubtful, "How do I know you're not just saying that to brush me off? I can take a straight up rejection. That I'm used to, but don't string me along."

Spider sighed and let his bag slide to the floor, "You remember what I told you, about how I'm not a whore?" Pool nodded, "If you were anyone else, I'd make you wait until I can do another show before you could even hope to see me again. Given how hectic my life really is, that could be weeks, months even. I don't know. Yes, the money's nice, but I do it to blow off steam. The problem is it's so rare when I can clear a night in my schedule.

"With you, though, and tonight," he gestured vaguely around the room, "It really was amazing. So if you're willing, I'd like to contact you when next I have to relieve pressure. We'll work something out."

"I'd like that."

Spider nodded and retrieved his bag. Something caught on the fabric and clattered to the floor. The gun Pool had emptied for their play. For a moment, Spider forgot to breathe as he watched the morning light reflect off its polished lines. He could still hear the click of the hammer and feel the breathtaking rush it unleased.

He didn't realize Pool had moved until he stooped to pick up the weapon. "Maybe next time," he stood and brushed the barrel against the side of Spider's mask, "You'll let me work on you instead."

What remained of Spider's breath passed through his lips and refused to return as Pool traced scorching lines against his cheek with the gun. He caught himself before he let out a moan and gently pushed the gun away. His voice, when he forced his lungs to draw breath, was a brittle rasp, "I don't lay down for anyone."

Bag flung over his shoulder, he left.

SSSS-

"I have a collection of your shots back home. So one night I was admiring them and rubbing out a fat one, when I thought to myself, 'Wade. There's no way these are gotcha shots. No one could possibly be in the right place, at the right time, as often as this kid must be in order to produce this sort of work.'"

Chapter Text

Wade skulked across the street from the offices of the Daily Bugle with one of their recent issues in hand. Once again, pert little web-bottom was featured on the front page underneath yet another detestable headline maligning Spiderman's good name.

He crumbled the paper and threw it to the ground. Just the thought of this gossip rag continuing to spread poison about him after all these years, it made him want to kill something. Like the one publishing these damn articles. He'd really like to take that bastard out.

Maybe later. That's not what we're here for today.

Put a pin in it, though.

Across the street, the Daily Bugle office had seen better days. The remains of old printings littered the parking lot and filth crusted the walls and windows. Even the sign above the door had a busted letter and one of the spotlights was out. With any luck, this damn tabloid wouldn't be in business much longer, now that people were wise to the lies they peddle.

'Just one more peek,' he thought and retrieved the paper, indulging one more time in the cover photo. It was an excellent shot, displaying Spiderman at the height of one of his patented web swings. Beautiful. The paper's date was just three days ago. The web-head had been around since he got back to New York, but he was being a bitch to find. He'd tried everything short of a bank robbery to catch his attention and nothing.

It probably wouldn't be so bad if he could get his spider fix elsewhere, but it'd been two weeks, and the Hero of the Night had yet to make an appearance. Not that he was surprised, mind you. He knew he was being brushed off as soon as the little acrobat opened his mouth. What pissed him off to no end was how he had the gall to stand there and lie to his face with his weak sob story instead of owning up to it like a man.

Right. 'Cause his disappearance couldn't possibly have anything to do with the gun you shoved in his face before he left.

He was scared when you pulled that thing out too. We've never seen anyone but Spider-butt ricochet off the walls like that kid did.

Yeah. Probably the only reason he stuck around at all is 'cause he thought we'd kill him if he ran.

"Shut up!" Wade shouted, crushing the paper in his hand and shoving in the trash. This was getting him nowhere. He came here for a reason and…

His anger fizzled out like week-old soda. What right did he have to demand Spiderman's attention? It's not like there was anything between them but his animosity. An overblown case of hero worship didn't justify tearing him away from whatever he was doing. Fun as it was to tease him and watch him get worked up, he knew perfectly well where he stood. The whole thing was pointless.

"And don't come back without that shot!" Wade looked up at the man leaning out a window of the Daily Bugle office, "You hear me, Parker!"

Parker? He scanned the people moving along the sidewalk and saw a man lift his hand before the window slammed shut above. Amidst the walking zombies, he watched the scrawny figure pull his coat up around his neck and start walking, hands tucked into his pockets.

Well, you came all the way out here. Might as well ask him.

'Yeah.'

Wade settled his ball cap under his hood, and trailed after his mark. If he was out after a shot, could he be on his way to meet with Spiderman? That would be fortunate.

You still don't know what you're going to say to him, even if he does show up.

What would he say? Hey Babe, did you know there's a stripper going around, peddling his act under your name? I've seen him, and damn he's hot, but he can't lift a candle to you. Can we find an alley or something where you can fuck me?

As if that would ever work.

He followed Parker at a distance. No point in spooking the kid. Assuming he did know how to get in touch with Spiderman, what reason did he have to share that information with Wade? Suppose he could pretend to be some poor sap in trouble, desperate to find Spiderman. He glanced down at the back of his scarred hand. Eh, shouldn't be too hard to sell.

A flurry of movement in his peripheral vision made him look up. Parker was gone, and a pair of women kept looking behind them before one urged the other forward and they ran.

"Shit." Wade ran the distance to where he last saw Parker and followed the meaty smack and soft-skinned grunt down the narrow alley. There was no one in sight, and the passage opened up both ways behind the buildings. Another impact to the right. He followed it, reaching for the gun in his waistband as he flung his head back and forth to scan the alleys. A strangled shout from behind. Down another narrow passage and around a corner

The pile up of trash was incredible. Ancient dumpsters crowded the red brick walls of the little courtyard-like alcove. Putrid juices dribbled from overflowing bags and drained across the cement into a grate to one side.

There was Parker, lip split and shirt bloodied, dangling helplessly from his neck in this massive brute's fist. Meanwhile, his friend was cracking his knuckles and coming around to slam a nasty right hook in the poor civvie's kidneys.

Fucking bastards.

No, wait. Let's see if web head shows up.

Only if he beats us to it.

Bang. Down goes the wannabe boxer. Meanwhile, wait-for-it… let the other guy turn around and… Yup! One dumb 'wtf' face later and Blam! Problem solved.

Parker hit the ground hard. His legs crumpled like brittle corn stalks. With his sideways impact, the camera around his neck flung out and shattered on the cement. Poor sap, all he could do was stare at it while he perfected his landed fish impersonation.

"It's all right, Kid. You'll be fine in a minute."

Parker's eyes rolled in his head, taking in the soiled bodies around him and then looked up. One look at the gun in Wade's hand and a glance at his stunningly handsome profile, and Parker backpedaled on his ass until he was elbow deep in trash.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?"

"Gah," Wade threw his head back, "Why is that always the first thing to come out of a victim's mouth? What do you want from me?" He mocked in a high, whining voice as he tucked the pistol back into his waistband, "I mean, how self-centered is that. Like it's always gotta be all about you. It's never about the guy with the knife, is it? But hey, you know what," he straddled Parker's legs and squatted onto his knees so they were in easy kissing distance, "This time, you're right."

He's cute.

Bit of a whipped dog, though. Fucker looks like he hasn't slept in a week.

I thought we liked whipped dogs. Don't you see how he's shaking? Just look at those big doe eyes. Come on, Daddy! Let's keep him!

"Oh, sorry," Wade reached out to cradle the side of Parker's face, "You caught a bit of that money shot back there. Let me just…" Gently, he swept his thumb across the puffy skin beneath the other man's eye, wiping away the blood splatter.

At first, Parker looked ready to faint. His breath was too shallow and uneven. The blood drained clean out of his face. He'd like to think it went somewhere south, but more than likely it all bled out through that nasty split lip of his. He was obedient, though. After the initial flinch, he hardly moved while Wade cleaned the dead-man's blood off his face.

"There now, isn't that better?" He scooted up so that his knees rested on either side of the other man's hips and sat back on his haunches, completely pinning Peter's legs beneath him, "I got a little favor I need to ask you."

Parker's breath came out in a shuddering rush as color returned to his cheeks and spread. His mouth was so dry that, this close up, Wade could see the texture of his tongue. He shifted awkwardly, looking for somewhere to set his hands so he could push up out of the trash, "What is it?"

Wade leaned his head to one side, keeping hold of those brown eyes. "You're the one who takes those pictures of Spiderman for that flea ridden tabloid, aren't you?"

So what'cha think? Clean him up a bit, and he could still pass for sixteen.

Probably, but if you're making a wager, I'd say he's at least old enough to drink.

We should buy him one. Puppy look's parched.

"Yeah. What of it?"

Oh look. He's trying to be tough now. That's so cute!

"Well, let's see," Wade let his eyes trail over the puppy's throat and down his chest, "I have a collection of your shots back home. So one night I was admiring them and rubbing out a fat one, when I thought to myself, 'Wade. There's no way these are gotcha shots. No one could possibly be in the right place, at the right time, as often as this kid must be in order to produce this sort of work.'"

The puppy shivered when Wade fingered his collar. The dead brute had popped the button in his enthusiasm. "Then I answered myself, 'You know, Wade, that's a very good point. What'cha thinking?' and I responded, 'Well, assuming I knew anything about how to use a camera, I'd still need a willing model.' Then I worked up this theory, where you and old Spidey work out photo shoots. It's the only thing that makes sense to me."

He'd leaned forward, drawn in by his fascination with how the puppy's Adam's apple bobbed just so over his collar. When he looked up, he almost bumped noses with him, "I don't wanna pull the, I-saved-your-life-so-you-owe-me card or nothing, but I'd really appreciate it if you could get a message to him for me. Maybe you could tell him what I did and ask him if he would meet me at this address."

He stole a butterfly kiss as he leaned up to pull a folded paper from his back pocket and tucked it into the puppy's collar like a ten-dollar bill.

"Will you do that for me, Precious?"

Parker was shaking again as he licked his lips and jerked a nod, "I… I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Pet."

Aw, to hell with it.

One hand cupped behind Parker's neck, he leaned in for the kiss, lingering and chaste. Just when the puppy started to relax into it, he rocked back onto his feet and pulled Parker up with him. For a second, it looked like he'd have to catch the journalist, but he kept his footing.

"I'll see you around, Babe." He said with a casual wave over his shoulder, "And try to steer clear of strangers in alleys in the future. You never know what creeps you're going to find."

He licked the still warm blood off his lips as he strolled away.

SSSSS-

"I know you've been dogging the criminal element lately. People are twitchy." He advanced as he spoke, but Spiderman stood his ground, "So twitchy that if I didn't know better, I'd swear they were actually afraid of their friendly neighborhood Spiderman."

Chapter Text

Peter kicked in the door to his greasy apartment and slammed it behind him. The remains of his camera crashed into a trash can, which he then launched across what passed as his living space.

"Damn it, Deadpool," his oath ended in a huff as he fell back on his door and pulled at his belt until his pants sagged around his knees. He hadn't been able to get Wade out of his head since he stumbled from that alley, hard as an iron rod and drunk on adrenalin. He could still feel the tingle crawling over his flesh from every single point of contact. Pumping hard and fast, he closed his eyes and felt the hair rise on his neck where the merc had grabbed him, his lips electrified from the kiss.

The tinnitus felt like needles thrusting into his skull as he shot his load over the floor. The piercing sound drowned out his shouts of blessed release and continued to build up until it was throbbing pain beating against his skull. He blacked out for just a moment and came to on the floor, dried cum smeared across his pant leg and the tile floor.

He looked down at his wretched self and felt the fire that had scorched him all day extinguish. Fucking Deadpool had to come to his rescue. As Spiderman, he would have owned both those dicks in five seconds flat, but as Peter… Even if he had fought, he couldn't kill them. If he didn't kill them, then they would've lived to tell his secret. All his life, he'd never been able to stand up to any of them, not on his own, not when he was just… Peter.

He could never protect himself. What the hell possessed him to think he could protect anyone else?

Reaching up, he fumbled for the light and then began tugging his pants back up. Something fell from his pocket and tapped onto the floor. Deadpool's note.

Peter might not be able to do anything, but Spiderman could.

He fetched and unfolded the note, recognizing the address at once and rolling his eyes at the little Deadpool doodle in the corner.

From between his squeaky mattress and the rickety box spring, he pulled a bag with his uniform folded inside. Knowing it was there waiting for him, he took a few minutes to clean up, popping his pills and patching up his split lip before he ducked under the showerhead.

Feeling the day's filth wash away, it was like shedding an old skin. He felt refreshed, invigorated, and anticipating the chance to fly again. When he pulled on the spandex, the uniform embraced him. His web shooters were nothing less than gauntlets of power. He loaded his discrete belt with web cartridges, tossed aside the water-stained ceiling tile, and leapt into the guts of the building.

His apartment was built by the wet wall, where the main plumbing ran throughout the structure. From here, he could climb all the way to the roof.

Climb he did. Even the simple sensation of clinging to the pipe and stone was liberating. It was an immutable connection that bent only to his will. He came out by the water tank on the roof and crouched on the ledge to take in the vast sea of light that was New York City. When the first breeze blew against his shoulders, he leapt and let the first line of webbing fly.

He found Deadpool, right where he said he'd be, perched on the edge of an old building overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge. Pulling on the web line, he threw his weight forward to complete this last pendulum swing and let go, flipping through the air and sticking the landing on light feet.

"My spidey sense is tingling," Deadpool cooed without looking back.

"I got your message. What do you want, Wade?"

"Aw," he leaned back and cocked his masked head to look at him, "Is it really so much to ask for a few moments of your time? I already checked the grapevine. There are no robberies set to go down tonight."

"Crime doesn't always work on a published schedule." Spiderman shifted his weight and planted a hand on his hip, "I assumed you had something important to discuss, since you killed two men to catch my attention."

"Spidey, you wound me," he pressed a hand to his chest, "I saved your boy's life, or did he forget to mention that part. Those guys were about to gut him when I got there."

"Thugs you could have just as easily subdued. But now, because of you, I've lost my chance to learn why they've been targeting my photographer."

"Wait a cold winter second," Wade spun on his ass and planted his feet on the roof, knees spread, "You're telling me you knew that civilian was in danger, and you weren't watching him?"

"They don't assault him on a schedule," Spiderman spat back, "That's why Parker wears a spider tracer at all times. It's equipped with biometrics and recording capabilities. I knew the instant he was danger. He also carries a failsafe in the event I'm delayed in reaching him."

Deadpool choked, "You're using him asbait?"

"Don't you dare judge me!" He meant it as a low warning, but it came out a shout, "You've been out for years, and don't know anything about what's going down."

"Is that a fact?" the mercenary shoved to his feet, "I know you've been dogging the criminal element lately. People are twitchy." He advanced as he spoke, but Spiderman stood his ground, "So twitchy that if I didn't know better, I'd swear they were actuallyafraidof their friendly neighborhood Spiderman. But that impossible, now isn't it? Cause even the most hardened criminals know that your pert little ass," he swept his hand around to grab a fistful of said rump, catching Spiderman off guard and momentarily thrusting him back into that alley.

When he didn't immediately hurl Deadpool over the side of the building, the merc continued, "They know you're only going to fuck them over for as long as they keep fighting. They know they can surrender anytime they want and make it stop."

Spiderman managed to suck in some air and growled up at Deadpool, who leaned down until he could smell the alcohol on the mercenary's breath.

"But something's changed, hasn't it? Now they see your shadow around every corner and feel your passage in the wind at night." He released Spiderman as suddenly as he groped him and fell back, arms thrown wide and the maddening pitch returned to his voice, "I'm just gonna go out on a limb here and say the two are connected."

Spiderman put forth the effort needed to resist rubbing his now aching backside, "Why did you call me here, Deadpool?"

"Well," he kicked out his foot and threaded his fingers behind his head, "To be honest, I was kinda bored and thought I'd pull on your web a bit, for old time's sake. But now I see there's a much better game afoot." Letting his hands fall, he assumed his full height, "I've got to ask myself, just how high are the stakes if Spiderman is willing to put a civvie at risk?"

"No."

"If you won't tell me," he waggled his finger in time to his sing-song voice, "then I'll just have to deal myself in and find out."

"Stay out of this, Wade. You've already caused enough trouble," he spun on his heel, as though that closed the matter, and aimed a web when Deadpool spoke.

"What's the failsafe?"

"What?" he turned his head just enough to listen.

"You're miraculous failsafe. What is it? How does it work? Because you see, from where I stood, there was nothing stopping those lowlifes from gutting your boy right then and there. He was too busy hanging by his neck to see the knife, much less activate any failsafe."

A sick chill ran down Peter's back, "They had a knife?"

He could hear the sneer in Wade's voice, "I guess that spider tracer doesn't record everything after all, does it? Suppose that means I really did save pretty Parker's life. Does this mean you're going to be more vigilant in the future or…" he let the word drag out… "You know, I'm sort of out of work at the moment. Nobody's posted any jobs worth my time in an age."

Spiderman grunted, feeling a migraine coming on.

"Come on, Spidey," Wade wheedled when he didn't respond, "Deal me in. If you don't, I'll just get my own cards. You know I've got 'em. A whole deck."

"I can't believe I'm about to… Fine," he faced the man and held up his hand, "But this is my case. You do things my way. Understood?"

SSS-

Cold silk bunched around his fingers.

Chapter Text

Deadpool hailed a cab, slouched in the back, and swore to the gods above that he'd never wash this hand again. Fingers curled, he imagined holding that buxom spandex-covered bottom again. With reverence, he pulled up his mask and brought the hand to his face to capture what he could of Spiderman's subtle essence. His throat constricted and he groaned, imagining what it would be like to brown nose between those globes.

His little soldier chaffed against his uniform. "Not here, Pudgy," he muttered, letting his hand fall, "I'll take care of you when we get home."

Outside, the dirty streets of New York eased on by. Overflowing dumpsters brought to mind the alley, and Parker. He knew better than to think Spidey had told him all. He still had no idea what the real score was, but it was obvious Baby Boy had let it get under his skin. He would never have caught him off guard like that if he were in true form.

A pocket on his belt began to vibrate. The Caller ID on the phone listed the HellHouse. "What?" he demanded.

"Hey boss, I think you should get down here. We got a strange threat today, and they was specifically talking to you."

"Go on."

The man on the other end cleared his throat, "I don't know boss, this is some weird shit. Came through a voice distorter and everything."

"Spit it out, Styks."

"Okay. They said, 'Tell Deadpool, it's time to surrender.'"

Wade sucked in his breath. Every nerve in his body lit up like a sparkler.

"Boss? What should we do?"

He terminated the call and rapped on the divider between him and the driver, "Change of address."

He'd worked himself into a frenzy when he reached the door to his loft. If the night spider wasn't here, he was going to break a couple tables, and then hunt the insect down and show him what happens to insufferable little cock teasers.

The door opened without needing a key.

The loft was pitch black, the curtains drawn, and every idle glow extinguished. He slid the deadbolt into place with a soft click and pressed into the darkness. There was no sound, nothing for his senses to lock onto.

He was here though. Wade could feel it.

"Oh itsy bitsy spider, come out. Come out."

Movement. Something rushed to the floor nearby.

Alert for an ambush, Wade crouched and felt around until his gloved knuckles bumped against something soft and pliable. The sound of his wrist straps separating raked against his heightened senses, and he discarded the glove without a care for where it landed. Still, he sensed nothing else move in the darkness around him.

He found the object again, and felt over it. Cold silk bunched around his fingers.

"Where are you, Spiderman?" he called out, "I don't know what game you're playing, but I'll find out."

His heart pounded. Still, nothing. No movement. No sound.

He searched for the light. Dead. So he waited, and waited. Just when he thought he was about to scream, there came a heavy thump behind him. He jumped and let out an unmanly squeak. Reaching out with his hands, he moved in the direction of the sound and kicked a chest. His footlocker, by the sound of it. He felt around it and swallowed when he found his discarded glove on the lid.

"Open it."

The command sent him back to the floor, two weeks ago. Spider's hand had gripped the back of his neck, his voice ordering him to speak the words. Shaking his head, he tried to dispel the image enough to focus. Moving slowly, he snapped the clamps open and listened to the hinge squeak as he lifted the lid.

"Good. Now unstrap your guns, and put them inside."

We did scare him then.

Shit.

The clinking buckles were the only sound around him as he removed the pistols and set them inside.

"Good Deadpool," the voice cooed like warm honey and left him a little breathless, "Now, take off your swords and lay them inside."

One by one, he instructed Deadpool to remove and surrender each of his weapons in turn. It didn't stop there. Once he was disarmed, the next instruction bade him remove his other glove. His boots followed, and then his armor, until there was nothing left but the naked spandex, the only barrier between the spider and his wretched flesh.

"Now untuck the mask and-."

"Please," he uttered into the darkness. Silence reigned again. He licked his dry lips, "Please. Not the suit. I can't, I…" Oh god, he was so hard.

There was a soft rush behind him, and he gasped when a foot pressed down between his shoulder blades.

"I gave you the chance to lay out boundaries." Wade whimpered as the night spider exerted pressure, pushing him over until his temple dug into the rim of the footlocker, "You wanted your hero instead. Does my interpretation of the wall crawler displease you? Perhaps you imagined roses and fine wine?"

"No," he gasped out, his voice hoarse.

"You are a criminal," his tone became purring and pleasant while he pressed harder with his foot, "and I've disarmed you. Now your mine, until I call the police to fetch you." The last he whispered in Wade's ear, his hot breath seeping through the fabric of his mask. "Of course," he nipped at the lobe, "You're free to surrender whenever you want."

"Oh come on, Spidey," he tried for his usual joviality, "Surely we can strike some sort of bargain."

"Go on."

"I give you whatever you want. Just… let me keep the suit."

That foot dug into his back as it slid down his spine, and he braced when he felt Spider's knee press against him with all his weight. A hand closed around his neck while the other toyed against the lines of his mask.

"I'll let you keep your flimsy spandex," he shivered when he felt spider's lips move against his ear, "but in exchange, I'll take your dignity."

He choked on the broken sob and bowed his head.

SSSS-

Deadpool flexed his arms and moaned, "Please say you're about to fuck me." "Babe, I'm going to wreck you."

Chapter Text

Spider wrapped Deadpool's eyes in silk. He made the mercenary kneel with hands bound behind his back, while he finished preparations. Low lighting. Flowing sheets of silk draped about the room. The metal rafter was tonight's centerpiece.

"Did I tell you? I've done some digging since our last encounter," he watched the man as he made conversation, noted the slight lift of his head.

"There's a hazardous occupation," Deadpool answered. Spider could tell he was going for levity, but there was an undertone of anxious need to his voice, "Grave digging is actually more dangerous than most people realize. You never know what you're gonna find."

He hummed in acknowledgement and picked up a length of silk, "But isn't that the point? Take yourself, for example. They say you can't be killed. Guns... Knives... Even grenades." He listened to the soft hiss that came from Deadpool as he moved behind him, "They say nothing affects you. That you can't even feel pain. Is it true?"

Deadpool let out a frail laugh, "Baby, the world doesn't want to see me without pain. There's nothing I couldn't do. As it is, I dance all over that line any-." The last word caught in a breathless gasp as Spider clamped his hand over the muscle spanning his neck and shoulder. Deadpool arched his neck and whimpered as he dug in his nails.

"You do feel pain then," he dug them just a little deeper and then released him, enjoying how the merc gasped and shivered.

"God damn, you're stronger than you look."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, but please, keep trying. Now," he bent down to whisper in Deadpool's ear, "Should I infer that the other part is true? Say, if I were to fetch your swords, I could sheath one here," he jabbed the soft tissue by his shoulder blade and smiled when the merc jumped. "Then I could put the other here," he pressed a knuckle to a kidney and knelt behind him, "Of course, I could always just put them both away, couldn't I?" The man's shuddering keen thrilled across Spider's skin when he grabbed the merc's ass. His erection strained against the black spandex. "I could do all these things, and it still wouldn't kill you, would it?"

"No," Deadpool whimpered. Spider wrapped a hand around his throat and pulled him back to nuzzle his ear.

"But it would hurt, wouldn't it?"

Deadpool swallowed, "Every time."

"Good." Spider nipped his ear and released him. He let the man gasp and come down from the head rush before he pressed a hand between Pool's shoulders, "Raise your arms." He complied, leaning forward to lift his bound arms off his back.

Spider slipped the silk under his arms, equally distributing the fabric on either side. From there, he began to wrap each arm, cocooning it from shoulder to wrist. "Mm, cozy," was the only breathless comment Pool seemed able to conjure. When he was done, he took the long silk tail that fell from the blindfold, looped it around Deadpool's neck, and pulled him back until his head rested on Spider's shoulder.

Humming contently, he watched the heavy rise and fall of the man's chest and nuzzled the side of his face. "There are a thousand things I want to do to you. If I were the villain, I suppose I'd take my leisure and do them all, one by one." He felt Deadpool's fingers grasp at his thigh with each enunciated syllable and smiled, "But I'm Spiderman, aren't I. The hero's hero. Still, that doesn't mean I go easy on criminals like you."

He pulled on the silk lead and listened to him gasp for breath while he pressed his lips to Pool's ear, "I'd ask your pardon for stepping out of character, but given how you're… well you, I don't think you'll mind." He ran his tongue around the arc of his ear. Deadpool uttered a whine and bucked his straining hips.

"Bondage scene colors," he dropped his voice an octave to catch Pool's attention, "Do you know them?" He released pressure on the merc's neck and let him gasp for air. Deadpool nodded.

"Recite them," he ordered.

Deadpool coughed and whimpered, "You're really going far enough to need-?" The last word squeezed off in a grunt when Spider pinched his taught bottom. "Green," Pool gasped, "means go. Yellow to slow. Red stops all."

"Good Deadpool," he purred and nipped at his shoulder, "Now remind me," he nipped again, "What was our safe word again?"

The man strained and Spider pressed his palm to his back to better support him, "I… I surrender."

Hearing him say those words made his toes curl. Spider growled and pushed Deadpool forward again. He rose and gave the lead a solid tug, "Stand up."

Deadpool moved awkwardly at first, but he recovered. Spider indulged in the sight of him, wrapped in silk, fully erect, displaying a hint of a tremor, all because of him. He led him across the room by the lead and stopped him with a hand on the larger man's chest, "Good. I'm going to unbind your hands. You will do exactly as I tell you to. Understand?"

The loose silk in front of Pool's mouth billowed with his exhale, and he nodded. With a few decisive tugs, the silk slid free of the knots around Deadpool's wrists. Spider tossed it aside for the moment, and picked up the two tails dangling from Deadpool's wrapped arms. "Roll your shoulders and let your arms rest at your sides. Good. Now keep them loose. Move your right foot forward and widen your stance. Good. Now make like a football player and brace with your shoulder's hunched, arms forward and loose."

"This is different," Deadpool remarked as he settled into the position, "Are you going to let me catch your ball?"

Spider snorted and, when he was sure Deadpool was ready, he took a running leap, jumped off the man's shoulders, flipped up over the rafter, and came down the other side to hang. Deadpool shouted as his arms flung up over his head. The weight of Spider's body almost hauled him up off his toes.

"Color?" Spider commanded as their chests bumped with the residual motion.

Deadpool let his head fall back and laughed, "This is what we're using colors for? Here I was just starting to worry. Green, Babe. We are so green."

Spider snorted and flexed his arms, gaining enough height to walk his bare feet up Deadpool's body until his knees were on either side of chin.

"Oh, what's this, now? Doth my spidey sense detect a foot fetish?" Pool bent his head down to mouth at the toes pressed against his shoulders. Spider pushed, extending his legs, lifting Deadpool off his, and shortening the ropes attached to the mercenary's arms. "Whoa. What happened to the ground?"

Twisting his arms around the silk, Spider kicked out again and again, rocking them in short jerks and pulling more silk across the beam until Deadpool's hands were only 18 inches or so from the rafter. "Do you get seasick?" he asked finally.

"Seasick? Not since I was a kid. Why?"

"Then get ready to pull your in legs when I tell you to." With his feet still firmly planted on Deadpool's shoulders, Spider gave a sharp twist of his hips and sent the pair of them turning. "Now."

Deadpool managed to drag is knees in, sending them into a heady spin, which Spider accelerated further by collapsing his body. Once they began to slow, he yanked down against the silk and kicked off Deadpool's shoulders to mount the rafter, silk tails still in hand. While he tied them off, Deadpool crowed and spun back around.

"And there you have it, Ladies and Gents," he shouted, "The never-before-seen Sextuple Sal Chow, flawlessly performed by the rookie sensation, Deadpool."

Spider snorted his sudden laughter in his hand, "You sound quite pleased with yourself."

Deadpool gave an exaggerated gasp, still spinning, "He laughs. I didn't think it was possible."

Hooking his legs around the beam, Spider dropped upside down and stopped Deadpool's spin before he did get sick. Once he had him settled, he removed the blindfold and unwound the tail from the mercenary's neck.

"World… Still spinning," Deadpool let his head fall forward until Spider had the last of the silk coiled around his arm, and then looked up, "Hi."

Spider smiled, "Nice to see you're in a better mood than when I found you."

"You and me both, Babe. I was ready to kill something if you hadn't been here to greet me." He looked up, following the line of Spider's body to the beam, where he hung from his crossed legs. Then he looked down at the floor far below.

"How are you doing?" Spider asked.

"Ah… Good. I'm good." Spider studied him when he met his eye, and then nodded before bending up to grab the beam with one hand and massage Deadpool's fingers with the other. "We're green, I promise." He stopped talking when Spider lifted his mask over his nose and whimpered when he drew the first helpless digit into his mouth, nursing like a babe at teat.

Scooting closer, he suckled each digit with equal consideration to increasingly wanton moans. All the while, he untied the blindfold and retied the long silk around the beam. Once it was secure, he grabbed the silk and dropped down, twining his leg in it to support his weight when he was eye level with Deadpool.

Dropping one hand, he slipped it behind Deadpool's neck and pulled him in for a hard kiss, lips to red spandex. Deadpool groaned and wrapped his legs around Spider's, holding him fast and growling when he found the spandex an unforgiving barrier to his tongue.

When Spider finally released him, Deadpool gasped. It wasn't a gasp of blessed air, but more of a gasp for air. Pool hiked himself up with his arms, and used his grip on Spider's body to gain some leverage.

Spider waited until he caught his breath. "Let go now," he issued the order with compassion and Deadpool reluctantly obeyed, swinging gently as he dangled. Holding with both hands, Spider untangled his leg and caught Deadpool between his knees, drawing him close, "Bend your knee and wrap the silk around your calf, as many times as you can."

When the mercenary could stand in the silk, he rewarded him with another kiss (still spandex blocked) and ground their cocks together. Spider indulged until he was almost lost in it, and then let go of Deadpool entirely. He caught the man's deprived whine on his lips before he smiled and dropped to the floor.

"What are you doing?" Deadpool shouted, starting a slow spin, "You're not just gonna leave me up here, are you?"

Spider smirked up at him and took the merc's dangling foot in hand, "The thought occurred to me." He gave the scarred appendage a quick squeeze before setting him to spin again.

"No. Please don't. Please, you can't leave me up here like this."

"Like what?" he asked flippantly as he started to gather up his silks.

"What do you mean, 'like what?' I can't," he hiked himself up higher on the silks, "Spidey, please." He could hear the touch of panic as he looped the last silk over his shoulders, "You can't… Please. Yellow, please!"

Spider dropped the silk in a pile at once, and had his hands on Pool's dangling leg in the time it took him to exhale. "I'm right here, Babe." He started to knead the man's calf and worked his way up to his thigh. Deadpool was starting to hyperventilate. "Breathe for me, Wade. Come on. I'll take you down if you can't relax and breathe."

Wade nodded and pulled himself up. Spider tightened the silk around his leg and gave it a couple extra wraps for security. It gave Wade enough slack to slouch against his bonds. Spider watched him intently until the merc regained his breath and looked down at him, "You… you're weren't really leaving, were you?

The frail note in his voice hit Spider like a brick across the jaw. "No, baby. I was not and am not going anywhere." Wade let go a shuddering breath and nodded, letting his head hang low. Spider pulled his mouth into a smile, "What possessed you to think I was leaving. I haven't even finished stringing you up yet, much less got down to the good stuff." He reached his kneading hand out to fondle Deadpool's slumping cock, and pressed an opened mouth kiss to the back of his knee, foot still cradled in his other hand.

"You mean you still want to keep going?" Pool's voice was both timid and hopeful. Spider nipped on the tendon before dragging his nails down his inner thigh, earning a long, shuddering moan.

"Only if you still do," he dropped his voice into a husky growl, trying to reignite the fires, "You have yet to surrender."

"And I'm not about to, Spiderman," he answered with his own growl, "You may have caught me, but you'll never break me."

"Is that a fact?" he spun Pool around to look up into his mask, and smiled, "You're confidence amuses me, Deadpool." He groped the man's cock again, feeling the man's moans coil around his spine as he stroked his palm up and down his shaft. "Especially considering I haven't begun to interrogate you yet." He let go of Wade's manhood and flicked his middle finger against the straining head. Deadpool's wanton whine ended in a sharp yelp and a jump, while the spandex over his glans darkened with pre-cum.

"Shit, Spidey," he hissed through his teeth while Spider started collecting the silks again, "What's up with you? First the suspension bondage, then the foot fetish, now the cock flicking. Is there anything you aren't into?"

"What can I say," he tossed the silks over his shoulder with a shrug and looked back up at him with his most wicked grin, "I like to make people squirm." Flashing a predatory smile, he started walking toward the footlocker.

"Spidey," Deadpool drew out the word warily, "What are you doing?"

"I'm not telling," he answered in a singsong voice and flipped the latches. He drank in the sounds Deadpool uttered in his anxious anticipation and rummaged through the weapons and armaments inside. When he found what he wanted, he hid it beneath the silks and tucked it under his costume at his back. He could see Deadpool trying to glimpse what he pilfered, but swept the silks behind him, freeing his hands.

"Patience, Babe," he took the silk rope in hand, "Unwind your leg so Spidey can climb back up."

Wade obeyed and swung free. When Spider was level with his torso, he wrapped his leg and spun Deadpool around, tugging at his spandex until he had enough bunched together to attatch the weapon to the merc's back. "I'll just leave this here with you for the moment. You'll keep an eye on it, won't you?" He climbed to the rafter while Deadpool twisted and strained, trying to see what weapon he pulled.

Spider left him to ponder that while he tied the remaining silks to the rafter. Once he was satisfied they wouldn't give way, he descended and suspended himself on a silk line, freeing both arms. "Give me a mule kick." He caught Wade's ankle and lifted his leg back to cocoon his knee and calf. It took the pressure off his arms once he released the leg, and then he did the same with the other leg.

When he was done, Wade was kneeling in silk, legs free to spread, arms suspended over his head.

"God damn, Wade, you're so fucking hot," he uttered at last, indulging in a little self-pleasure when he heard Wade's wanton whimper.

"Am I strung up yet?"

Spider smiled, "I think you might be." Taking a line of taught silk in each hand, he pulled Pool toward him, freed himself from the silk and brought his knees onto the back of Deadpool's calves. The man moaned and threw back his head, while Spider flexed his arms on the taught silk line, "How's this, Baby?"

Deadpool flexed his arms and moaned, "Please say you're about to fuck me."

"Babe, I'm going to wreck you," he answered in the most threatening voice he could muster. Deadpool's wanton whine spread gooseflesh all down his arms. Cautiously, he let go with one hand, and then the other, until all his weight was born by Pool's calves. "Pull your knees forward," he ordered.

Deadpool did, bringing Spider's chest flush with his back, letting him wrap his arms around his tree-trunk chest and press the weapon between them. "This is how I'm going to fuck you, Deadpool," he growled into the man's ear, raking his nails across the man's abs. "I let you keep the spandex, remember?" Pool whimpered and nodded as he toyed with the hem of his tights, "Now I'm going to take your dignity, while you beg me for mercy."

He found the length of Pool's erection pressed up against his belly and ghosted his fingers along its length. The way he trembled in Spider's arms, the aborted thrusts that sent them into shallow, lazy swings, and the pleading little sounds all served to intoxicate him. He found a nipple with one hand and thumped the penis with the other.

Wade yelped, recoiling from the shock and rocking them both beneath the rafter. "Fuck, Spidey."

"Not yet," he dug in his nails and dragged them back over Deadpool's hip before reaching for the weapon pinned between their bodies. Deadpool froze, his breath catching when he heard the holster clatter to the floor below.

"You want to stay very still now," Spider enunciated in a low growl, drinking in the man's strangled gasp as he touched the point of the blade to the soft flesh above his hip. "The wrong move could make your little friend here bite down, and while, as you say, it won't kill you, I'm betting it will sting."

Slowly, tantalizingly, he began to drag the tip of the blade across Deadpool's side, doodling with it up near his nipple and back to his sensitive underarm. The first whine he coaxed from Deadpool's lips was more exquisite than any that had come before. With one hand clamped on the back of Pool's neck, he began to experiment. What started as feather-light scrapes hardened, and he watched the spandex split before the blade like butter, exposing a lash of scared and pebbled flesh. A little more pressure and tiny red lines blossomed behind the blade.

"Oh Gods," Deadpool cried, his head thrown back against Spider's hand.

"Color," Spider ordered.

"Green," he shouted, "Please, dear god, do whatever you want with me. Just please, don't stop."

Leaning back, Spider cut another swatch of spandex down beside Deadpool's spine, blood dripping down in the blade's wake. Pool moaned and sobbed, shuddering until Spider clamped down on the back of his neck, after which he stilled and started to beg.

As much as Spider wanted to drink in the words alone, he had to relegate them to background noise in order to give the man his full, undivided attention. One bloody line after the next, he carved Deadpool's own symbol into his back with ruby paint.

By the end of it, Deadpool was a sobbing, crying, incoherent mess. Spider bit down on the flat edge of the blade and swiped his hand across the design. Already, the shallow cuts had closed, leaving nothing but the ruined spandex and cooling blood.

Wrapping his arm in silk, he slid off Deadpool's calves and climbed up to the rafter while the merc gasped and sobbed below. He moved to the silk line in front of Pool, crossed his legs over the beam, took the blade from his mouth, and dropped down.

"Look at me." He did, red mask pulling into his mouth with each gasping breath. With one hand, he cupped Deadpool's cheek and pressed his thumb into the corner of his mouth. "Open wide." The whimper went straight to Spider's hindbrain, forcing him to stop a moment and recover himself. Then he brought the dagger to Deadpool's mask and slowly split the material covering his mouth before crushing their mouths together.

He'd expected a clash of wills, all teeth and spit and tongues, but Deadpool was dough in his hands, warm, needy, and pliable.

It was too much. Spider fought with his costume and gasped into Deadpool's mouth when the relief of blessed freedom finally washed over him.

Releasing him, Spider wrapped the silk around his arm once and let go the rafter, sliding down until he could wrap his leg and hang upside down, level with the man's cock. "Deep breath," he growled as he pulled Pool close. With great care, he split the spandex up the length of his large penis until the valiant member sprung loose to desperate sobs of relief. He tossed the blade aside then and enveloped the pebbled flesh in his mouth, while hot, eager wetness enfolded him.

Muscles trembled and nerves wound tight, it didn't take much before Deadpool was a sobbing wreck, thrusting with abandon and choking on Spider's cock as he tried desperately to outrun his own release. Even so, Spider didn't relent, deep throating him to the hilt and swallowing.

Deadpool released his cock with a wet pop, "Oh god! Spidey I can't, I…" Deadpool thrust desperately once, twice, and screamed as he unleashed his load down Spider's throat.

The mercenary dead weighted after that, limp body suspended only by the tension on the silk. Spider worked quickly, easing first his legs out of their cocoons, and then climbing to the rafter to untie the silk holding Pool's arms and lower him to the ground.

SSSS-

Wade pitched his voice lower, purring into his chest, "Still, it would give me great pleasure to fix it for you." Spider huffed out a short laugh, "I'm sure it would, Honey Bottom," he flattened his hands and ground his heels into his temples, "but little soldier's not the problem."

Chapter Text

Deadpool woke in his bed sans shirt, clean and tucked under the covers. The lights were out, but the curtains were open, bathing the room in New York's constellation light. To either side of him, the king sized bed was empty, though the bedclothes were rumpled to one side, still warm.

He's trying to sneak out again, isn't he?

Not if we have anything to say about it.

He threw the covers aside, stalked into the main room, and flipped on the lights. Silk sheets still dangled in a cluster fuck from the rafter, but beyond that, the room was empty.

He felt his ear pull back. The splash of water in a basin tickled his senses and he followed it. Light streamed through the cracked bathroom door.

Oh, thank gods. He's still here.

He smile and started to go make pancakes when a pitched whimper cut through the sound of running water. Three long strides and he reached the door, ready to push it in when he saw Spider braced against the toilet. His face was scrunched in frustration while he frantically pumped his dry cock. "God damn it, come on," he uttered in a fierce whisper before he gave up and collapsed, straddling the toilet, head down over the porcelain tank, hands fisting against his mask.

Wade's first impulse was to turn away in shame. After the incredible, amazing, impossible night this man had given him, he hadn't even had the decency to finish him off. His second impulse, though, told him he had the perfect chance to make it up to him.

The running water covered the sound of his entrance, or at least Spider didn't react until he turned the tap off. Not that it was much of a reaction mind, just the tensing lines on his back.

"Now's not a good time, Babe," Spider told him flatly.

Wade flinched, "I know. I saw." He pitched his voice lower, purring into his chest, "Still, it would give me great pleasure to fix it for you."

Spider huffed out a short laugh, "I'm sure it would, Honey Bottom," he flattened his hands and ground his heels into his temples, "but little soldier's not the problem."

Wade felt the mask pull against his face as he moved behind him, "Tell me what to do. Is it a migraine? I have some Excedrin here somewhere."

Spider barely moved, just enough to shake his head before he became very still. "Doesn't help," he whispered through a tight throat, "Nothing's strong enough. Just have to," he sucked in a sharp breath and held it while his fingers dug into his mask and his body tried to convulse.

Wade grabbed his shoulders, about to knead him when Spider spat out, "Don't!" He froze while the man before him arched his back and trembled, "Don't try to move me. If you do, I'll," his tight voice trailed off and Deadpool rested his hands on the man's shoulders again.

"I'm not trying to move you," he swept his thumbs across the backs of his shoulders and squeezed, "I'm trying to help."

Spider didn't move for a long moment. Beneath the glaring bathroom light, Wade could see every last muscle coiled tight. The man pressed his hands so hard to his head that they began to tremble. Finally, Spider let out a breathless squeak, "Okay."

Wade rubbed his muscles with deliberate earnest; working the lean knots on his shoulders first before moving up to work the man's neck. When he dug into the tendons, Spider let out a gasping sob and seemed to release some of the tension with it. Crouching, he set his knees on the floor and began to work across his whole back with a single-minded focus, encouraged not so much by Spider's broken whimpers and sobs, but by the elasticity he felt returning to his flesh.

Then Spider heaved. Bile soaked through his mask and dripped down his face before he could fall back off the bowl into Wade's lap. Wade caught him with one arm around his chest and ripped the mask off with the other before he spewed his guts into the bowl.

Spider heaved until the fluid was clear and wretched until there was nothing left but spit and drainage to justify his presence at the bowl. Wade held him through it, rubbing his back, neck, and anything else he could reach without displacing him from his lap.

"Oh god," Spider begged after a particularly strenuous heave, "just let me black out."

He didn't black out, though.

When it was finally done, he fell back in Wade's arms, deadweight, and crying. Cold sick and drainage clung to his face in globules while the remains of the first heave had ruined his costume. Wade divested him as efficiently as he could, throwing the soiled spandex away before he carried him to the large shower.

There, he set the small man on the floor and turned on the water, dropping the hand-held showerhead so that it sprayed against the wall, away from his lover.

Did we just say that word?

We did.

Aware of how Spider shivered and curled against the cold tile, Wade urged him to hold on for just a moment and ran to grab a fresh cloth and soap. When he returned, the water was running hot to the touch. After a few adjustments, once it was only warm, he went to work.

Spider hissed when the water splashed over him. Wade pulled the hose to full extension so he could easily rinse any part of Spider's body he needed to. The warmth seemed to help with the shakes and he began to relax from his tight curl. That is, all but the arm he'd thrown over his face, which he pressed against the wall.

Wade ground his teeth, but let it go for the moment. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. Once Spider was warmed up and drenched, he lathered the cloth and began to wash him down.

He was as beautiful as his costume suggested. Rich olive skin and brown curls. Even flaccid, his cock was nearly as long as the width of Wade's hand. He took his time, reverently attending to every inch of flesh he could while his heart swelled every time Spider's body opened and yielded to him. Eventually, though, there was only one thing left to wash.

Silently, he ran his fingers down the arm hiding his face, "How's your head?"

"Better," he answered softly.

Wade nodded and swallowed, "You've no clue how much I want to thank you for tonight, right here and now, but I can't. Not until I have you cleaned up. I," he fumbled for the words, for anything that would break this last bond without breaking them, "I understand wanting to keep your life separate from what you do at the clubs. I get it. Maybe I'm stupid to hope I could be more than just part of the scene. I don't care who you are or what you do out of costume. I just…" He sighed and bowed his head, "I just want to get that shit off your face."

To his surprise, Spider laughed. It started out as a soft chuckle but it grew into a belly laugh and suddenly all the tension in the room vanished. He turned his head into his arm, but now Wade could see his smile.

"Just what exactly do you think I am, Honey Bottom? Some billionaire CEO? The current singer rock star, perhaps?"

Deadpool grinned, "I was thinking more the CEO's kid, but a rock star works as well. You are built like a dancer."

Spider snorted, "And you're built like a brick shithouse, Sugar Tits." He sighed and let his head rest back against the wall, upper face buried in the crook of his arm. "I'm not really all that interesting. Rather lame, actually."

"I very much doubt that." Wade shifted his soaked leg to the side so he could sit on the shower floor.

"You'd be the only one." Spider pursed his lips a second then released his breath in a rush, "Fine. I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Elsewise, I'ma shoo you out and cut some holes in one of your towels."

Wade fidgeted, "I don't think-."

"It's a one-time offer, Hun. Take it or leave it."

"Fine," Wade snapped back, harsher than he intended, "Just remember you asked for it."

Spider smiled, "So did you."

Reluctantly, Wade pulled the Velcro on his mask and let it fall away. A moment of silent shock and then que the screams in three, two…

When nothing happened, he looked up and gaped at the boyish, could-pass-for-sixteen face looking back at him.

"Parker?"

"Wade," he inclined his head and offered a sheepish smile, "Now that we're acquainted, do you think we could…" He indicated the crap on his face.

SSSS-

"That's what bothers you, isn't it?" Peter scraped the spittle off his cheek and advanced when he saw the stunned expression flash across Wade's face, "That someone like the Night Spider can wreck you so completely, but he barely knows which end is the business end of a gun."

Chapter Text

After they got Peter cleaned up, Wade fetched him some clothes – which looked like tents on him – and insisted on cooking and dosing him with painkillers. Peter wasn't sure how hungry he was yet, but the pancakes did smell good. As for the painkillers, they wouldn't touch the migraine if it came back. Still, he hadn't packed any of his medicine before coming over, making him shit-out-of-luck either way if it did re-surge, so he accepted the pills. They made Wade feel better anyway, and they might take the bleeding edge off.

"Spiderman told you, didn't he?" Wade asked suddenly, flipping a pancake.

"Spiderman told me what?"

"My name," Wade glanced back at him, "He did, didn't he?"

Peter rested his chin on his hands and smiled. "Actually, you did. Several times, in fact. I'm a journalist, Babe. You learn to notice that sort of thing. As for my suspicion that Deadpool and my mysterious savior were the same," Peter shrugged, "the doodle on your note to Spiderman was a pretty clear giveaway."

Wade slammed his utensil on the counter, making Peter jump. "And that's another thing," he rounded on Peter and braced on the counter separating them, "What the hell happened in that alley today? Yesterday? Whatever. My point is, with what I know you can do, you should've had those bastards laid out long before I got there."

Peter blinked at him and leaned back, resting his hands on the table, "I guess I can see how you'd think that, but there's a problem with that logic."

"Really?" Wade hiked up his non-existent eyebrows, "Because I'd really like to hear it."

"Wade," he spread out his hands with a small shake of his head, "I'm not a fighter. I never have been. Is it possible I could've taken them out? Yeah… I guess… but I've never been in a real fight before. Besides, for argument's sake, let's say I did knock them out. What then?"

Wade looked like he was trying to pass a brick. "What do you mean, 'what then'?"

"I mean, I couldn't kill them. Maybe you've noticed what I can do looks an awful lot like what Spiderman does. If these people – or god forbid myboss– start thinkingI'm Spiderman… I'm fucked."

"So you'd rather risk your life than take a fucking," Wade shoved off the counter, "Never mind asking Spiderman to settle the matter once it's brought up. You two are obviously buddy-buddy. Shit." He dumped the seared pancake in the trash and turned off the heat.

Peter said nothing as Wade busied himself in the kitchen, staring at the wood grain on the table and hugging himself. The plate of pancakes dropping onto the table startled him. Wade slammed condiments and utensils down and then dropped in the chair across from him with his own plate in hand. His lover proceeded to tuck in with a single-minded determination.

Would they still be lovers after today? Were they ever? It seemed plain that Wade was thoroughly disgusted by him. Perhaps he should just go.

"Eat."

"Huh?"

He jabbed his sticky fork at Peter's plate, "Eat. After the night you've had, you need the calories."

'The nightI'vehad?'

He sat up and cut a little wedge off the stack, but he just wasn't hungry anymore.

"Are you for real?" Wade asked when he set his fork down. Peter looked up at him, and immediately wished he hadn't. Wade's scowl deepened, "You're seriously giving me the kicked dog treatment? After everything you've done?"

Peter clenched his teeth and stood, "EverythingI'vedone? Well excuse me, Mr. laboring under the delusion that whatwedid was mutually consenting. However, seeing as I was wrong, Ihumblybeg your forgiveness and will see myself out. Good night, Sir." Shoving the chair out of his way, Peter headed for the door.

Wade got up and followed him. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Home."

"The hell you are," he grabbed Peter's arm and spun him around; "It's the middle of the fucking night. You're not going anywhere."

"Why the hell not?" Peter shouted back, getting into the man's face, "You've made it perfectly clear. I should be capable of taking care of myself."

"I know youcan'ttake care of yourself," spittle flew from his lips, "If you could, I would never have needed to rescue you."

"And that's what bothers you, isn't it?" Peter scraped the spittle off his cheek and advanced when he saw the stunned expression flash across Wade's face, "That someone like the Night Spider can wreck you so completely, but he barely knows which end is the business end of a gun."

"It doesn't make sense. I've seen you fight. You fought the first night you came here."

"You mean when you pulled the gun? I was fucking terrified," he shoved Wade in the chest, "That idiot bartender had already been putting bugs in your ear. As soon as I declared myself Spiderman, I knew if you believed it, even for an instant, I was dead. As for the fighting, you remember I didn't 'fight back' until after you'd emptied the gun in front of me. I have no chance of winning against you in a real fight, and I know it."

The two of them ended up standing toe to toe with each other, breathing the same air and staring into each other's eyes. Wade's nostrils flared and his lips pursed, but there was no ready come back, as Peter had expected there to be. Instead, he just continued to stare at him, but damn it, this time Peter wasn't going to back down. He knew what he was and he wasn't going to apologize for it again. If Wade couldn't handle it, it was his loss.

"I think you severely underestimate yourself, Parker," he said at last.

Peter sighed, and relaxed, "You're entitled to your opinion." The two of them continued to stand there and stare until they both began to fidget. "So… What now?" Peter asked.

"I don't know," Wade huffed and scratched the back of his head, "I still owe you from tonight." He looked down at Peter, "But right now I think I want to finish breakfast. We both burnt a lot of calories, but you more so than me."

Peter shifted his weight with a snort and planted a hand on his hip, "How do you figure?"

Wade grinned, "Easily. All I had to do was hang there, while you were climbing up and down and all around those things." He waved for Peter to follow. "That's some pretty impressive stamina, by the way. I don't think I ever saw you break a sweat."

Peter smiled, "Flattery will get you nowhere, but by all means, keep trying." They shared a knowing smile and sat back at the table.


	2. Chapter 2

A vision came to him of Peter's legs in uniform, clamped down on that scumbag's neck – the one who split Puppy's lip. There'd be a delicious twist of his hips and the neck would snap.

Chapter Text

Wade shoved Peter against the wall, tongues wrestling like two women in a slick mud pit. Peter dug his nails into Wade's back, and he swore his spider was dragging bloody trenches with them. Not that he minded. It was hot and rough and damn this kid didn't know his own strength. It's the only thing that made sense. How else could this puppy not realize how dangerous he was?

As he pulled his lover's legs up around his waist, he imagined Peter donning a uniform of his own. No longer would he live out a power fantasy in Spiderman's shadow. Instead, he'd take his place in the landscape of heroes and villains.

He swept his tongue across Peter's upper lip, now devoid of any hint of the nasty split that had been there not twelve hours ago. 'A healing factor,' he thought as he yanked Peter's head to the side by his hair and clamped his mouth over his jugular, 'my boy has a healing factor.'

Peter gasped and cried out when Wade sucked and bit down, squeezing his hips between those vice-like legs and humping him through the soft fluff of their sweat pants. He dwelled on those legs, the strength with which they jumped, the heights he'd seen them reach, the way they stuck impossible landings with perfect poise and balance.

A vision came to him of those legs in uniform, clamped down on that scumbag's neck – the one who split Puppy's lip. There'd be a delicious twist of his hips and the neck would snap, but it wouldn't end there. The twist accelerated into a full rotation and that bulbous, pea-brained head popped clean off. Caught in the crook of Peter's foot, it hurled through the air like a soccer ball to meet its ultimate end as mashed potatoes against the wall. Pan back to Peter as he swings his legs around to rest on them, blood raining down from the man's spurting neck.

Oh god, yes. Deadpool wore red so the enemy couldn't see him bleed. Peter's would be red from the blood of his enemies.

He was grinding Peter into the wall, their cocks punishing each other through cotton while they both cried out and clawed at the other's clothes.

More. Wade needed more!

Fisting his hands into Peter's ass, he hauled them off the wall and threw them on the bed, "I'm gonna fuck you, Peter," he promised and bit down on his lover's shoulder, drawing blood and thrilling with Peter's arching back and scream of abandon. "I'm gonna fuck you into this bed, then the floor and then the window. I'm gonna show all of New York your pretty ass and paint the glass white with your lust."

For just a moment, Peter's vice-like grip on his hips went slack. That was all he needed. With decisive action, he tore the sweat pants from his hips and ripped it off his legs. Catching an ankle, he twisted his puppy onto his stomach and dragged him to the edge of the bed.

"Wade," Peter's wanton cry thrilled across every fiber of his miserable being. A quick adjustment to his grip and he pinned Peter's heel to his ass. Into his other hand he spat and began to slick himself. "Wade, wait! I can't-."

"You will, Petey," he growled and positioned himself, glans pressed against Peter's tight little hole.

"Yellow!"

Something clicked inside Wade's head and he stopped just short of his thrust to bury himself in Peter's ass.

"Yellow, Wade! Wait, please."

His voice… that touch of panic.

The vision of that red-spandexed, incubus, vigilante, devil spawn of a partner burst, leaving him with wide, brown, doe-eyes looking back at him over his shoulder. The sudden transition had the effect of ice-cold water, but only for a moment and then the ice warmed to a steaming simmer.

"What is it, Petey boy?" he asked in a wrecked whisper and pressed his palm to the small of Peter's back beneath his shirt.

Peter gasped and let his head drop to the mattress, panting. Wade scraped his nails down the boy's silky spine, drinking in the strangled sound he made as he arched his shoulders and threw back his head. "Come on, Sugar Tits. Use your words." He continued scratching him down over his ass until he could press his palm to the cleft between the moons and probe Uranus with his thumb.

Peter whimpered and tried to buck back, but Wade still held him pinned by his ankle against his bottom. "Wade, I can't… I mean, I haven't…" Wade pressed down, dipping the pad of his thumb into the boy's hole while sliding Peter's heel down across his pale cheek until it dug into his hip bone, where at last he felt the muscles and tendons begin to strain.

"Gaa!" Peter's hands scrambled for purchase. "That's far enough," he managed to get out between gasps, "Any more… and you'll pop my knee out of joint."

"Good to know," Wade smiled and watched Peter squirm as he dipped his thumb into that ring of tight muscle and withdrew, "But this is more than plenty. I've got you immobilized, haven't I? You haven't twitched your hips once since I turned you over, and I can see that pretty cock of yours weeping over the sheets." Oh god that whine of his did such wonderful things to him. "I've got you right where I want you, at my mercy. From here, I can do whatever I want to you and you're powerless to stop me, aren't you Baby Boy?"

He slipped his thumb in to the first knuckle and held it there while Peter cried into the mattress.

"But you called 'yellow', didn't you, Baby? That means go slow until you've said your peace. Believe me, I can go veryslowly." He moved his thumb in a shallow circle to rub against all sides of Peter's sphincter. Peter's body contracted and he turned his head to gasp and cry out. "I can do this as long as you want, Pete. As long as it takes you to find your voice."

"Please." Peter's voice was wrecked, the word drawn out and tenuous, like a violin string.

"Please, what? I need you to use your words, Pete."

"Please," he whimpered, and then gasped as Wade completed another orbit with his thumb, "I can't! I mean, I've never been… Not like this."

Wade pressed his thumb to one side and watched the man before him tremble like a leaf caught in the storm, "Not like what, Baby Boy? You can tell Daddy. Daddy promises, he won't make you feel bad."

Peter whined and Wade swore he saw tears shine in his eyes, "Daddy…" His voice came out pitched, uncertain, and fucking childlike, "I've never had a boyfriend, Daddy." Wade sucked his breath in through his teeth, and praised Thor there was nothing touching his cock or he'd have come right then.

"Too scared to come out of the closet," Peter continued. Shit, Wade could see his eyes clouding over, was literally watching the headspace take hold. "Monsters aren't in the closet, Daddy. They're everywhere else. Watching me, all the time. They hurt me. They hurt MJ too. She hid with me, but they found us and…" His voice broke down into a dry sob.

Peter was crying. Fucking tears wet the bed.

Where are they? The yellow voice in his mind screamed bloody murder, I'll kill them. I'll fucking murder all of them!

We will, White voice answered. Normally white was cool and calm, but now it seared with white-hot rage, But first, the boy.

Wade released the ankle and clamped his hand around the base of Peter's neck, praying the grip that so effortlessly grounded him would ground Peter now. "There are no monsters here, Sweet Boy. Just you and your Daddy. Listen to Daddy. Papa knows best. I promise, I'll protect you. The monsters will never, ever hurt you again."

Peter's chin quivered. Tears streamed unchecked when he closed his eyes. He jerked his head in a nod, but when he drew breath, it came out a broken keen.

Shit.

Wade climbed onto the bed and pulled Peter up with him. He threw his back against the headboard while the boy sprawled across his chest and stomach. "It's okay, Baby boy. I'm here. Daddy's right here. He's not going anywhere."

It was like pulling a stopper. Peter completely broke down and his screams filled the room. Wade could've bathed in his tears. He clung to Wade like a lifeline and the only thing Wade could do was wrap his body around the man and squeeze until the migraine returned and wiped him out.

SSS-

The sun was well into the sky when Peter came to. Damn.

His muscles trembled when he pulled the sheet off his body. Shit.

He ached all over and his skin felt like it was crawling with fire ants. Cold sweat soaked the mattress and his stomach ran through convulsions, warming up for the main event.

The thick rug was sandpaper on the soles of his feet. Peter gripped the edge of the bed and focused on breathing until he felt the world had sufficiently settled from its swirling dance.

He needed his medication.

The act of standing was enough to tempt his migraine. The cold tile on his feet raked across his nerves. He felt the impact of every stumbling step in his bones, and it incited the blinding throb in his head.

"Wade," he spoke softly as he reached the threshold, but his voice was a scream in his ears.

He found Wade at the table, computer open, a glass of liquor in his hand. Peter leaned on the doorframe. Sweat dribbled down his neck and legs, soaking the shirt Wade had given him.

Wade looked up and, seeing him, swore. He slammed his laptop closed and rushed to him, catching Peter's outstretched hand and holding him upright, "Peter, what's wrong? Dear God, you're freezing. What happened?"

Peter leaned too far and fell against his lover's chest, "Take me home, Wade. I need my medicine. I need…"

"Fuck that shit! I'm taking you to a hospital. Now."

"No," Peter gripped his arm and heard Wade hiss, "Home. I just missed some meds. That's all."

"Fucking hell, Pete. What kind of shit are you on?"

"Wade."

"I heard you," the world spun when Wade swept up his feet and carried him back to the bed. "But if you don't clear up, and I mean soon, I am taking you to the emergency room."

The next half-hour or so rolled by in a haze as Wade dressed him and called a cab. He remembered reciting the address at one point, but he didn't truly rouse until he heard Dance with My Father ring on a 30-second loop near his feet.

Drunkenly, he fumbled for the sound when Wade caught his hand. He lost his balance as Wade bent forward, his body leaning heavily on his lover's. Then his dirty old backpack appeared on his lap and Wade pulled him back against his chest, his arm wrapped around Peter's shoulders.

Peter fumbled with the zipper. By the time he found the old flip phone at the bottom of the sack, he'd missed the call. He waited. Sure enough, the song started up again. The little screen on the front read simply, 'Ben.'

Resting his head against Wade's shoulder, he flipped it open with a shaking hand and answered, "I'm here."

"Where are you?" The old man's voice sounded concerned.

"On my way home. I'm, uh," he shifted his weight against Wade's side, "Bringing company."

"Wade Wilson?"

Peter blinked and frowned, "Yes. How did you know?"

"Pass him the phone. I've been trying to reach him all night."

"Why?" Peter leveraged an arm against the seat and sat up, "What do you want with him? He's nothing to do with this."

"Not according to Spiderman. Please hand him the phone."

"Okay," he frowned and then looked up at Wade's concerned scowl.

"Who is it?" He asked.

"Graveside," he held out the phone, "He wants to speak with you. Something about Spiderman."

"Graveside?" Wade's brow pinched, "Never heard of him." He grabbed the phone from Peter's hand, "Who the fuck is this?"

Peter tried to sit up straight, to brace his arms against the seat, but Wade just pulled him back against his chest. "Color me unimpressed, Old Man," Wade informed Graveside and paused, "Uh-huh… whatever… No. I'm not about to hand over my private phone number to some old geezer who-." He suddenly took the phone away from his ear and stared at it. "That bastard hung up on me!"

A second later, I'm Not Here for Your Entertainment started vibrating in Wade's pocket. "What the hell?" He pulled out his phablet and glared at the caller id, 'Unknown Number.' He ended the call. A second later, Unknown Number appeared on the screen again.

By the fifth time, Peter huffed at him, "Just answer him. He's not going to let up now that he knows he has your attention."

"Fine," Wade groused and connected the call, "You better have a damn good explanation for this. How did you get this number?"

Peter caught Ben's derogatory reference to Wade's computer skills before the migraine started to peak and he tuned out the rest of the conversation.

"Got it," Wade shifted against him later, "Understood. He wants to talk to you, Babe." He held the phone to Peter's ear.

"M'here," he slurred.

"You're about ten minutes from the apartment," Ben informed him in crisp tones, "Do not stay there. Get what you need and head to ground. Spiderman's kicked up a hornet's nest and will be dealing with it for the next few days. Until the situation is resolved, the apartment and surrounding neighborhood are not safe."

Peter managed to push up higher on Wade's chest, "What about the Bugle?"

"I've settled it. Your new camera will be delivered when it's safe for you to return. Until then, Spiderman has enlisted Wade Wilson as your guardian. Seems to think the mercenary is trustworthy."

Peter glanced up at Wade, "I trust him."

"I hope so. Stay on your guard and don't draw attention to yourself. Above all else, do not miss your medication again. If you should succumb, then the whole operation is lost. Understood?"

Peter nodded, "I understand. I'm sorry."

"Take care of yourself, Peter. I'll be in touch." The phone went dead.

Wade paid the driver to sit tight and wait for them. Then, with Peter's arm slung over his shoulders and his arm around Peter's waist, they made their way to the apartment.

The building didn't look like much at all. In fact, it looked rather like an old factory. Antiquated mason work needed repair, and the narrow windows were cloudy with age. It was obviously a cheap retrofit job and he'd bet his hat that the housing inside was barely up to legal standards, if at all. Management hardly put forth any effort into presenting the illusion of greenery, what with the faux flowerpots and browning grass. Old cars dotted the parking lot and he could see the curtains shift in the drafts higher up the building.

Housing for degenerates.

'Remind me later to ask Peter why he's living in a shithole like this.'

Noted.

Don't worry, Good Lookin'. You're not the only one who wants to know.

That settled, he put the thought from his mind. It had been a long time since he'd pulled bodyguard duty. The thought of following some lame VIP around, waiting for someone to attack, had very little appeal. He much preferred to go for the throat and be done with it.

Only this time, Peter was the VIP and Spiderman was his employer. Oh, how things had changed.

'I'll have to jump on the vine later, and see what I can dig up about Spiderman's activities.'

Later. Right now, you have a job to do.

They came to Peter's door and he indicated the welcome mat. There was no way he was hiding his key… Shit. Looking round, Wade left Peter leaning on the wall, fetched the key, and ushered them inside.

Peter stumbled through the dank space to the rickety bed three feet away, where he collapsed, shaking.

There was no living room. The front door opened onto his bed. Threadbare clothes hung from a rod on the opposite wall. Old pizza boxes and refuse from half-a-dozen other takeout joints piled on the floor or overflowed from bags in what passed itself off as a kitchenette. The ancient refrigerator made this horrible racket and moldy dishes piled around the sink.

There were rats living better than this. He, personally, had dwelled in his share of shit holes back in the day. Granted, a few of them managed to top this, but only a few.

Um, what happened to all the money he makes stripping?

'Add it to the list.'

"Okay, Petey," he checked the door one last time, then perched on the mattress and brushed back Peter's sweat-soaked hair, "In and out. What do we need? Where's your medicine?"

Peter was zoned out pretty bad, but he managed to look up to the only other doorway in the place and point. Wade gave his shoulder a brief squeeze and then went to investigate the… toilet room. He couldn't even call it a bathroom. A showerhead came right out of the wall and drained through a hole in the floor. Lovely.

His phone rang again. Unknown number. "What?"

"There's a stack of plastic drawers in the bathroom," Graveside informed him in clinical tones, "Peter's next round of medication is in the green, week-long medicine box. Once he's taken it, pack the rest of his medicine and some clothes in a bag and get out of there."

"How the hell do you know where he keeps his fucking medication?" Wade demanded.

Graveside snorted, "I'm disappointed. I'd have thought you'd be able to figure that out on your own, Mr. Pool." The line went dead.

"Damn cock sucker." Wade shoved the phone in his pocket, found the medicine box – nearly overflowing with pills. He wasted the next five minutes finding a glass fit to drink out of and clean it. Seven minutes later, they were back at the cab, bag over one shoulder and Peter over the other, having passed out soon after taking his medicine.

"Don't ask questions," Wade shoved some money at the driver as soon as he was in, "Just drive."

With Peter laid across his lap, he spent the ride back with his fingers to his boy's pulse, waiting for the color to return to his cheeks.

SSSS-

Leaning forward, Peter nipped at Wade's finger, and, encouraged by the second hiss, lapped at the digit. Rolling his eyes up to meet Wade's, he sucked the fingers and traced the edges of his hand with his lips. When he could feel the passage of Wade's breath against his face, he bent down to take the capsules straight from the man's hand.

Chapter Text

Peter woke to rough callouses stroking his cheek. He was tucked into the firm, king-sized bed. The now familiar space of the loft loomed around him. The curtains were drawn, leaving only a trail of sunlight on the floor.

There was Wade, lounging on the bed behind him, computer propped up on his lap. He watched, pensive, while Peter took stock of himself, testing the strength of his muscles against the weight of the sheet to see how they responded. The sheet felt like it was made of lead. Rolling over was a chore, and his brain felt like it was made of mud. The pain was still there, but it was masked with a veil of narcotics that gave everything just a little extra sheen.

"You look better," Wade said at last, grazing his knuckles along Peter's jaw, "How do you feel?"

Peter groaned and turned his head into Wade's touch, "Fuzzy."

Wade pulled a half-hearted smile, shut his computer, and tossed it onto the foot of the bed, "Well, Fuzzy, I've been informed it's time to take your medicine again." Kicking his feet, he rolled off the bed and fetched back a glass of water.

"Mm," Peter dragged his arm back to push onto his elbow, "What time is it?"

"Just after two," he pulled the sheet down off Peter's shoulders and crawled onto the mattress beside him. Peter waited as he dumped the afternoon's pills into a mound on his palm and then offered them with the water. "What the hell is this stuff anyway, Pete?"

Still fuzzy, Peter glanced up at him and offered a wry smile, "It's what's keeping me alive." Wade hissed through his teeth. Peter knew on a certain level what the sound really meant, but amidst the fuzz, it brought to mind something else.

Leaning forward, he nipped at one of Wade's fingers, and, encouraged by the second hiss, lapped at the digit. Rolling his eyes up to meet Wade's, he sucked the fingers and traced the edges of his hand with his lips. When he could feel the passage of Wade's breath against his face, he bent down to take the capsules straight from the man's hand. With each pass of his tongue, he picked them up and then arched his neck to drink from the glass tipped by Wade's hand.

With the last of them gone, he buried his face in that life-giving hand. He licked every inch of it until the last trace of medicine was gone and there was just Wade. He heard the faint clink of the glass and then felt the other scarred hand in his hair and around his neck.

"Come on, Babe. If you're well enough for this, you're well enough to shower. Then it's time to eat."

Peter chuckled and listed into Wade's arms, "Think you might be overestimating me." He grinned lazily up at him.

Wade returned the gesture with a snort and a short shake of his head, "You're orbiting Jupiter right now, aren't you? How do you function if you take this shit every day?"

Peter snuggled closer, forcing Wade to give in and lay down beside him, "Meds are out of balance," he mumbled into Wade's chest, "Missed a couple rounds. I take the rough shit right before I sleep. Knocks me into the ground. Suppose getting high pulls me back up. Don't know. Not the doctor."

"So there is a doctor?"

Peter nodded, "Graveside found him. Spider vetted him. It's all good."

"Why would Graveside need to find you a doctor?" Peter groaned when Wade cupped his hand around his face and turned it up to look at him, "I need to know, Babe. What's going on?"

Peter grinned and cooed at him, "No fair. You're tryin' to take advantage o' the high guy." He brushed a finger across Wade's nose and giggled.

"Come back down, Pete. You're flying too high. I won't be able to reach you."

Peter giggled again, "You're silly. Got a string around my ankle. Jus' hold on an' we fly together, go wee."

"All right, Baby boy," Wade snaked his arm under Peter's neck and pulled him close, "I got your string. I won't let you go anywhere."

Peter woke up sometime that evening, hung-over, and feeling as if he labored under a pile of bricks. Wade wasn't in the bed this time, but he heard the feverish clicking of a keyboard through the open door. Dragging the covers off, he planted his feet on the ground. A glance in the mirror showed he was bearing the nude, but right then he couldn't conjure the will to care. Slowly, he rose and lumbered toward the door.

Wade was right where he expected him to be, typing away at the table. The only thing different about this picture was the pile of crumpled food wrappers and the burrito he held in his mouth. His stomach gurgled as if it was about to turn inside out.

"Don't suppose there's anything left?" he mumbled as he drug out a chair, turned it around, and straddled it.

Wade looked up like he'd been startled, and then he couldn't look away until Peter pushed back his fringe and caught his eye, "Check with me again in a couple hours, Sweet Cheeks. Right now," he pointed to the bag of Mexican food, "Are there any scraps to be had, or do I need to order my own food?"

Wade glanced guiltily at the bag, and then, with obvious reluctance, took the burrito out of his own mouth and offered it.

"My prince," Peter accepted it with both hands. He meant to at least try to appear casual, but as soon as the meaty filling touched his pallet, his body informed him it hadn't eaten since god awful early this morning and it was ravenous. Before he knew it, the last of the tortilla shell was gone and he was lapping up the juices from his hands.

"I'm glad to see your appetite's returned."

Peter blushed when he realized Wade was watching him and ducked his head, looking away, "Thanks."

"You better be," Wade grinned, "I gave up one of my sacred burritos for you. That doesn't happen to just anyone."

Peter smiled, "I'm honored. I don't…" he glanced at the bag, "There's no more left, is there?"

"Baby, I'll get you whatever take-out you want. Whatcha cravin'?" He picked up his phone and entered the unlocking code.

"I don't know," he admitted, "Everything? Chinese?"

Wade called in their order and then set the phone on the table. "Suppose we need to clean up then," he made a sweeping grab for the greasy wrappers, "You think you can get those down?" Wade indicated the silks, "Seems to me they're just too damn useful to leave up there."

Peter agreed. "Unfortunately, the way I'm feeling right now, I probably wouldn't get three feet off the ground before falling on my ass."

Wade stopped and looked at him, "Is it the headache again?"

"Nah," he shook his head and pushed off the chair, "Just the usual evening crash. Ben hasn't called again, has he?"

Wade blinked at him, "Ben?"

"Graveside. I call him Ben. Looks weird for a reporter to be getting phone calls from someone that sounds like a super villain."

"Ah," his lover nodded, then pursed his lips. "How do you know he's not, with a name like that? I mean, Graveside? As a name, what the fuck does that even mean?"

"I don't know," Peter shrugged, "I always interpreted it as, like, he sits by the graves to keep us from falling in? He can't exactly get out into the field anymore, not like you or Spiderman do?"

Wade grunted as he finished sweeping the Mexican debris into the bag, "You'd be surprised what wizened old men can still do."

Peter grinned, "Speaking from experience, Sugar Tits?"

"I will spank that shiny bottom, Mr. Parker."

"Promises," he gave his left cheek a playful smack, "I'm gonna hit the showers. Be out in a few."

When the water was piping hot, Peter bowed his neck and let the spray beat against his head and shoulders. He was going to have to tell Wade soon. He couldn't keep hiding behind his drug-induced haze. No doubt, Ben would be calling his lover any time now to instruct him in Peter's next round of medication.

This round… Fuck the rounds that made him high. This next round was what made him feel alive, and made his performances as the Night Spider possible. There'll be nowhere left to hide once he took it.

"I don't want to live through it again," he mumbled into the wall.

"What was that, Babe?" Peter looked back to see Wade's silhouette through the marbled glass, pulling his shirt up over his head.

"Just wishin' I didn't have to wake up from this dream and deal with Jameson again."

"Is he the one who writes those god-awful lies about Spiderman?"

"He might as well be," Peter smiled when Wade's hand appeared on the glass and the door slid open, "He's the editor in chief. Nothing prints without crossing his desk."

"Is that a fact?" Wade grinned, shutting the door before stepping into the spray, arms braced on the tile wall to either side of Peter. "Good to have a name to put to the crime. Makes things easier when I decide to deal with the perpetrator."

Peter felt his heart quicken as he looked up at the man standing over him. Of course, he knew the scarring covered every inch of him, but after his pleas to keep the spandex, he didn't expect to see him like this.

"Hello there, Sexy," he trailed his fingers down Wade's chest, over his navel, down to cradle the heavy balls dangling behind his rod, "You've been thinking about me."

Wade shook his head slightly to either side, "Oh Baby, I haven't thought of anything else all day." He bent down for a sweet kiss and then reached for the soap. "Half that time, all I could think about was how amazing last night was, and how I still haven't repaid you for it."

Peter sighed, "I'm not keeping score, Wade, I-." He stopped with Wade's finger on his lips.

"You may not be, but I am. I want to." He stepped in closer, crowding Peter against the wall, and smiled, "You're not the only one who likes to make people squirm." He bent down for another kiss, parting Peter's lips with his tongue before reaching for his tonsils. While Peter moaned, he heard a plastic click. The shower stopped and a rough hand splayed across his chest, slick and warm.

Wade slathered him with naught but his bare hands, groping and scratching, digging into the muscle and ghosting over Peter's skin until he felt high all over again. While Peter clung to the wall, he knelt and massaged his hips, his thighs, and calves. When Wade made him turn around, Peter almost cursed in frustration. Then his lover was working his shoulders, digging his heels' and elbows into the tight muscles until Peter forgot everything else but to push back into the merc's hands.

Those hands worked slowly down his spine until, quite suddenly, he had a handful of cheek in each hand, and Peter forgot how to breathe.

"Easy, Baby Boy," he soothed when Peter pushed back into his grasp, "Daddy's gonna take care of you."

Peter's voice came out a whimpering mew and his face burned when he felt that sharp pull in his mind that had wrecked him the night before.

"You like it, don't you, Boy?" Wade's voice was sex incarnate as he fondled Peter's ass and slid his thumbs down the crack, "You like it when your Daddy takes care of you."

Peter bit down on the whine and pushed his hips back when he felt Wade's thumbnail scrap across his hole. Every time he said that word, he yanked harder on that string in his mind that made him feel small.

"Go on, Son."

Peter sobbed. He hadn't heard that word in years, and the thought of what Wade could do to him with that one syllable terrified him.

"Tell your Daddy how you feel." Thumb slick with soap, Wade slipped the digit inside his hole and cradled his balls in the other.

Peter almost collapsed, and had to cling to the walls and floor to keep from falling on his lover's face. He couldn't let it happen again. Last night, Wade caught him off guard, but now… He tried to blink back the tears, to pull back on the string that drew him down. He couldn't regress like that again. He couldn't.

Still, Wade continued to tease his hole and fondle his balls. He ghosted his finger over his sack until every nerve from Peter's head to his toes lit up like stars, only to grasp him and roll his testicles, separating them and bringing them back together again.

Before long, literally the only thing holding Peter upright was his ability to cling, and even that gave way along with his resistance to the drawing string.

"I've got you, Baby Boy," Wade caught him around the waist and eased him to the floor, "Daddy's got you."

There was no stopping the gasping cry then, as Wade drew him back against his chest. He was undone.

"Come on, Son," Wade's voice hummed low in his ear, "Tell me what's going on inside that head of yours."

Peter jumped and bucked his hips when Wade's hand wrapped around his throbbing member and began to leisurely stroke back and forth along its length.

"Wade," he sobbed, "Please."

He started when Wade growled against his ear, "Who am I?"

"Wade, I-."

"Who am I, Boy?"

A last gleaming star appeared before Peter's eyes. He could stop this. He could make it stop right now. Then the string spoke, using a voice all too familiar.

But you don't want it to.

Wade pressed his lips against his ear. "Color for me, Son," The arm tightened around his waist, "Paint me a color on the wall."

"I like green, Daddy," Peter felt the flush burn up his face when heard the tiny little voice come out of his mouth, tiny, like how he felt. "Green's my favorite color."

He felt Wade's breath rush across his shoulder and thought the arm might strangle him before he began to fondle Peter's little soldier again.

"It's my favorite too," he kissed the skin behind Peter's ear, "Let's paint the walls together."

Peter gasped and arched against Wade's chest as his fist began to glide up and down his cock. Without thinking, he grabbed Wade's arm and thigh, not ever wanting to let go. The first time Wade tried to shift, he knew he'd done it. He couldn't move, couldn't separate his skin from Wade's. Everywhere they touched – save the soapy motion of his hand – they had fused together as Peter clung to every part of Wade he could.

"Oh God, Peter. How?" Wade groaned in his ear, and Peter realized there was another ball of tension knotting beside his own. It wasn't his. It was like watching one of Tony's holograms work next to the real thing, but it was there and it was bright.

The harder Wade pumped him, the brighter it became. The two of them moved together, thrusting in time until, at last, they painted the walls with Peter's brush, while Wade's spilled out behind him.

SSS-

"It's not over yet," Peter told him quietly, kissing their fused hands, "I haven't given up. I won't give up, not until it's over."

Chapter Text

Wade paid the delivery boy with a tip and sent him on his way. At the counter behind him, Peter finished washing down his next round of medication.

He hadn't said anything to Peter yet about the conversation he wanted to have, but by his lover's silence, he already knew.

Do we really have to have this conversation now? I wanna know what the fuck happened in the shower.

The boy had better start dealing answers out all around.

Wade ignored the voices and laid out the food while Peter moved the electronics aside. The silence stretched into the meal, but Wade decided he didn't mind so much. Peter was tucking in as if it was going to be his last meal.

That came out wrong.

Totally.

'You know what I mean. It looks like he's famished, not… like I'm about to cut him down.'

Wade picked at his food and sighed. His gaze slid over to the computer more often than he cared to think about. It was enough, apparently.

"So what have you been working on?" Peter asked, trying to make it sound like a casual, how-was-your-day, kind of question.

Wade sighed and set down his chopsticks, "I think you know that already."

Peter slowed, finished biting off his chow mein, and swallowed, "I guess it doesn't take a genius, does it?"

"No," Wade shifted, "Though apparently, you are one if your scores are to be believed."

Peter dropped his chopsticks in the box and pushed it aside, "Where do you want me to start?"

"Now there's a loaded question," Wade let his gaze roam the room: from the silks to the footlocker, the cell phone to his computer, from the homeless clothes to settle at last on the pillbox on the counter. "We'll start here." He pointed at the box, "What the fuck is this?"

Peter glanced at the medication and sighed. "Well," he tugged at his fingers and chewed on his lip, "I suppose that starts a little bit like this." He held up his hand and waved, "Hi, Everybody. My name is Peter Parker and I'm a mutant."

Wade snorted a short laugh and nodded, "Believe it or not, I actually figured that part out on my own."

Peter smiled as well. Then the expression became long and stretched, and Wade braced for the bad news. At least he thought he'd braced for it. He really tried. He just wasn't prepared to hear, "And I have cancer."

The room went cold. A black weight hit his stomach. He felt his face drain all its blood to parts hitherto undiscovered. "That's not funny, Parker."

"I know," he let his hands fall to the table. "I wish it were, but then I'd never have the gall to say it to you."

Feeling his heart begin to palpitate, Wade sat forward and breathed in through his clasped hands. Peter started to reach out for him, then stopped and waited. When he thought he had it under control, he asked the next question, one he desperately didn't want to ask, "How advanced is it?"

"Um."

'Dear god, Peter, please stop biting your lip like that.'

"It's," Peter sucked in a deep breath, looking pained, "Advanced enough to cause black-out migraines."

"FUCK!" he slammed his fists so hard against the table it split. Peter jumped but otherwise didn't move as Wade grabbed the chair beneath him and slammed it against the counter, shattering it. "God damn it!" He beat the counter then, screaming and pounding his fists against the marble until Peter placed a hand on his shoulder.

Wade whirled around and saw a flash of fear in Peter's beautiful eyes. Then he pulled the brat into his arms and squeezed for all he was worth. "No," he felt his voice break, and then he couldn't stop, "No, Please. Tell me it's not true. Tell me this is just a sick joke. Please. I can't do it. Oh god, I couldn't do it the first time. What makes you think I could do it again?"

His strength gave out and Peter's took over, bearing him gently to the floor while he cried like a little girl with her first broken heart. Arms around Peter's neck, he clung to him when his lover lifted him, bridal style, and tucked Wade's head beneath his chin as he moved them into the bedroom.

The bed received them both, and Peter climbed on top of him, covering his body with his weight. He began to pepper Wade's face with kisses, trying in vain to take away the tears. He caught Wade's hand and pressed it to the pillows over his head. In the span of a sob, Wade felt their hands become one, their skin fused together.

Another pain appeared next to his, a foreign pain that pressed up close. While Wade's pain was wild and flailing, this other was firm, resolute, and bore uncounted scars. When that other pain touched his, the two began to bleed together. He felt his pain become still and resolute. Above him, Peter strangled a cry while his tears dripped on Wade's shoulder.

They comforted each other with desperate abandon. When it was done, and they'd spent all they had to spend, they held each other close in the dark.

"It's not over yet," Peter told him quietly, kissing their fused hands, "I haven't given up. I won't give up, not until it's over."

Wade had heard this speech before. "Let me guess. This doctor came to you out of the blue, and promised he could cure your cancer if you'd just take this cocktail."

He sensed the quiver of Peter's doubt and ground his teeth.

"He didn't just appear out of nowhere. Graveside found him for me. We were already working together when I found out. Spiderman vetted him and-."

"Did you vet him?" Wade rolled onto his elbow to look down at him, "What do you actually know about this guy?"

"I-," Wade stopped him before he could say anything. The tells he sensed through this rogue power of Peter's told him everything he needed to know.

"Have you ever actually met this guy? What does he look like? Where did he get his doctorate? God damn it, Peter! Do you even know his name?"

"No," he broke the connection and sat up, "I don't. But I trust the people who brought him to me."

"Why?" Wade didn't mean to snap but realized he didn't care. He was going to get it through this kid's head what kind of reckless danger this sort of naiveté would get him into - had already gotten him in. "What have they done to earn your trust? I'm gonna ask you the same questions about Graveside, and you better damn well have a finer answer than this."

"He's Spiderman's friend. They've worked together for years, okay?" He shoved off the bed. Wade followed. "And no, before you ask," he rounded on Wade, "I've never seen Graveside. No one sees Graveside. That's the point. He's a specter. A ghost in the shadows. A watcher."

"Oh, he's a watcher all right." Wade snarled, "He's done a right fine job watching you. Did you know that he knew exactly where to find your medication in your apartment?"

There's the blanch. God, just once in his life he'd love to be wrong. "What are you talking about? I told you where to find the pills."

"You pointed me in the direction of your bathroom. He could tell me which plastic drawer they were in. Baby, the only way this guy could have that kind of knowledge about your apartment is if he'd been there."

Peter shook his head, the tension mounting in his face, "That's impossible. Why would he do that? There's no reason for it."

"People like Graveside always have a reason," Wade spat. "And what the hell makes you say it's impossible? You kept the key under the fucking doormat. Anyone with half a brain could waltz into that place."

Peter had no ready answer to give. Big surprise.

Still, it bugged him what Graveside said when he asked the man how he knew where Peter's medicine was.

"No," Peter said at last, "I don't believe Spiderman would-."

Struck with sudden realization, Wade clamped his hand over Peter's mouth and warned him with a glare and a finger to his lips to be quiet. Then, without another word, he shoved Peter's clothes at him and dragged him out the front door.

SSS-

Alertness begat alertness. Soon they were feeling each other's ticks almost in sync. Wade would sense something nearby and Peter would glance that way. The electric tingle tickled his neck, and Wade reached for his gun. Beneath it all, there was a mutual comfort, knowing beyond any doubt, someone had your back.

Chapter Text

Peter sat in the back seat of the cab with Wade's arm around his shoulders, fingers tracing his mouth. Every time he tried to ask his lover something, he'd cover his mouth and shush him.

The electric tingle that warned him of danger hadn't bothered him yet, but he could feel it lingering right beneath the surface.

What's more, when Wade had hailed the cab – by hand mind – he had Peter stay back so he could talk to the driver alone, then ushered him inside.

His heart was pounding. He didn't know where they were going or why. What's worse, he couldn't shake the sick feeling that Wade was right about the others. He really knew nothing about this doctor. He'd only ever communicated with him via e-mail. Then there was Graveside. He thought he could trust Graveside. Spiderman worked with him for years and had nothing but the highest regard for the man.

There had to be a reason for this. Some kind of explanation. There had to be!

Wade rapped on the plastic divider. The Taxi pulled over and let them out. Wade paid him without a word and sent him on his way.

The driver had dropped them off at the corner of 42nd and 10th avenue, by an old hotel called the Travel Inn. He was about to ask what they were doing here when Wade grabbed his hand and started walking.

Not knowing what else to do, Peter clung to his hand. Wade stopped as soon as the fusion took effect and looked back at him. Wade's fear appeared beside his own, which surprised Peter. He could tell his lover was intent on something, but afraid? Wade stepped back to him and squeezed his hand. Their fears touched and some of Wade's angry determination bled into his, while he saw his own frightened uncertainty flit across his face.

Then, something different happened. Wade's fear hardened and spread a shell of unwavering determination over Peter's until they both stood resolutely against the unknown. When Wade turned back down the street, Peter fell into step beside him. He never broke the connection.

Alertness begat alertness. Soon they were feeling each other's ticks almost in sync. Wade would sense something nearby and Peter would glance that way. The electric tingle tickled his neck, and Wade reached for his gun. Beneath it all, there was a mutual comfort, knowing beyond any doubt, someone had your back.

They walked for over an hour, passing hookers and gangsters alike. It wasn't until a group of kid thugs got in their way that Peter realized Wade had found what he was looking for.

"Leave them alone," a man's unyielding voice commanded before a red-suited figure dropped down from the roof above.

Peter blinked at Daredevil's appearance. Once he ran the kids off, he started to greet the hero when Wade sharpened his grasp. Placing a finger to his lips for silence, Wade reached for their fused hands with his free one and pulled on Peter's fingers, kissing his hand when Peter released him.

Peter crossed his arms while Wade led the Daredevil away. They didn't go far, hardly more than a few steps, but it was enough that he couldn't hear a word of what Wade was telling him. Whatever it was, Daredevil listened intently without looking at either one of them. At last, he nodded and muttered something to Wade before vanishing down the alley.

Wade still offered no explanation when he returned, but clasped Peter's hand and led them down the street again. He stopped only a few steps later, though, and looked back when Peter hadn't reinitiated the fusion. Expression pained, he closed the distance, and pulled Peter into a kiss, their hands pressed between them. Unable to stand it anymore, Peter clung to him again and felt at once Wade's anxiety and the rush of relief that followed.

They synced up more quickly this time. Wade took corners now, leading him down street after street until they came to an old apartment complex with stairs leading down to the cellar. Wade barely hesitated before taking these stairs. The doors opened before he could knock, and Daredevil led them inside.

The room was empty and eerily silent. Peter couldn't even hear the sounds of the city.

Wade led him to the center of the room and held his hand at arm's reach, indicating he should stand still with a raised hand.

Daredevil placed a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder and then began to inspect him, circling around to 'view' him, as it were, from all sides. At last, he took Peter's left arm in his hand and held it up, pressing two fingers down around a small lump beneath his skin.

Wade's anger spiked before he pulled Peter's hand away, inspecting the lump for himself. It didn't hurt, except when he pinched it and the lump itself seemed mobile. Finally, Wade bent to unsheathe a small dagger from his boot. He held it up so Peter could see it and then directed the point down to the lump.

Heart racing, Peter clung to Wade's hand on his arm. Wade reacted to his fear by tightening his grip. From his lover, Peter felt rage, betrayal, hatred, and a fierce determination to fight, to protect. Wade didn't let those feelings bleed into Peter's, but he sensed enough to know the anger and hatred weren't directed at him.

Swallowing, Peter nodded. The blade cut the flesh over the lump, and small object, no larger than a fingernail, slid out. The floor dropped out from under Peter when Wade held it up to him.

A Spider-Tracer.

SSSS-

Beneath his finger, Peter smiled. It wasn't a taught pull of the lips, either. It was a warm, butter-melting, forgiving smile. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. He's my best friend."

Chapter Text

Wade dropped the damn tracer on the cement floor and crushed it beneath his boot, feeling no small part of him crushed with it. By the rising tide of shock and betrayal he sensed from Peter, he wasn't the only one.

Only when he was certain no part of the circuitry had survived did he break the silence.

"Let me go, Babe. There's no point in both of us being overwhelmed."

Peter jerked away and Wade let him, watching him stumble back into the wall and slide to the floor, eyes wide and unseeing, mouth agape. He bit back his own feelings for the moment and held out his hand to Daredevil. "Thanks, man. I owe you a solid."

For a moment, Daredevil didn't move. He seemed caught somewhere in his senses, but then he reached for Wade's hand and they shook on it.

"Just make sure your usual business stays out of my Kitchen."

"I'll do my best."

Daredevil slipped out a moment later, leaving them alone in the soundproof room.

Wade turned his attention on Peter then. Baby boy had slipped completely into shock like he'd just been gut punched with a semi-truck. To be fair, he had just ripped away the complete trust Peter had had for these people and turned it inside out to drop the shit inside at his feet. It didn't matter that he first sniffed this oozing pile of manure the moment he met with Spiderman. It was Peter's life that he'd just torn apart.

Now it was his job to fix it, by any means necessary.

Here we fucking go again.

What's your plan, genius?

'Same plan I went with the first time. Find the fuckers who did this and make them do what they said they were gonna do.'

Assuming, of course, they actually can and they're not stringing him along like how Francis strung you?

Fuck that shit. We'll break every bone in this doctor's body and force him to develop the cure for cancer if we have to.

"Hey Babe," he took a knee by Peter's side and grasped his shoulder, "We're going to fight this. I swear I'll do everything in my power to make this right." Peter didn't respond. He just kept staring at the crushed bits of circuit on the floor.

"Come on, Peter," he gave his shoulder a little shake, "Don't blank out on me, Baby. Talk to me."

There was a slight shake to Peter's head, more of a tremor than any meaningful gesture. "He wouldn't do this."

Wade shut his eyes shut and bowed his head, "He did, Babe. I'm sorry. I don't wanna believe it either, but-."

"No," Peter pressed against the wall and climbed to his feet, his voice gaining in confidence, "Spiderman would never do this to me. Ever."

"Baby, he just did," Wade thrust his hand at the microchips and stood while Peter knelt to inspect the remains of the tracer. "Look, I get it. I worshiped him too. Three days ago, I'd have been his first champion against this sort of slander, but that was before I learned he was using an unprotected civilian as bait."

"That was my idea."

Wade blinked, "Come again? I didn't quite catch that."

"You heard me, Wade," he threw down the chips and stood, facing him, "It was my idea to bait these bastards out. I volunteered for it. Hell, I fucking insisted."

"That doesn't make any sense. Babe, he's using you."

"I'm using him," Peter squared off with him, shoulder's back, fists held to the side. "Look, I know you're mad at him. I'm not too pleased with the guy either right now, but I know he would never betray me. If you knew anything about the shit we've been through together, you'd know it too."

"Then read me in." Peter sucked in his breath as Wade advanced on him, "For the love of Spiderman, please. If you can convince me he hasn't gone rogue, then do it. 'Cause I really don't wanna face a world where our hero isn't immune to corruption."

Peter looked away, deflating, "I don't know if I'd call him my hero. Not anymore, anyway, but he is my friend." His lips twitched into a slight, reminiscent smile, "I've known that idiot since we were kids. I was there when he got his powers. Not the spider-bite, mind, but after. I remember," he snorted a short laugh, "the look on his face the first time he stuck to the wall. He couldn't figure out how to unstick."

Wade felt his tension melt before a strange sense of awe as it dawned on him what Peter was trying to say. Was he really sharing a personal anecdote about Spiderman? Was it possible for someone to claim such an intimate connection with the reclusive wall-crawler? Yet, the way Peter told it, he could easily envision this green little, teenage, hero-wanna-be freakin' out because he's stuck to the side of a building.

"You know who he is." Oh sweet cum-fuck, that sounded as star struck as he felt.

Peter's only acknowledgment seemed to be his private little smile. "There was this one time; a prototype shooter blew up in his face. It didn't hurt him, but," he giggled and started embellishing his tale with his hands, "there was webbingeverywhere. It was in the ceiling and all over his clothes. It stuck to the carpet so bad we had to tear it out. This was before he nerfed it with a shelf life, you know, to make it dissolve after an hour or so like it does now. So it tookweeks to get all of it cleaned out. Of course, by the end of it, half his equipment was ruined. About the only thing he could say for it in the end was, 'Well, at least we know it'll stick.'"

His impression of a young, cocky, smart-ass Spiderman was flawless. He didn't even have to squint to see it. Is that what it would've been like, to be there when Spiderman was still gestating, before the mask and the legacy?

"You really know him, don't you?" he cupped Peter's face in his hand, tracing his thumb along the curve of his lower lip, "Like, more than just his name. You actually know who he is behind the mask."

Beneath his finger, Peter smiled. It wasn't a taught pull of the lips, either. It was a warm, butter-melting, forgiving smile. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. He's my best friend." There was a slight squeak in his voice, like a creaky rocking chair. "I was there when he learned how to fly. I'll never forget how he dropped right out of the sky, throwing himself between these thugs and me. He hadn't even made the suit yet. Instead, he was wearing this scuffed up, hooded jacket on top of running pants and kneepads. It was something he picked up at a second-hand store, and then dyed red and mutilated with his mother's sewing machine."

Wade grinned at the image Peter painted, while his lover leaned into his hand, "You know what he told me? He said that was the first time he'd ever let anyone else see him as Spiderman, that before he saw I was in trouble, he wasn't sure he could go through with it."

"So you popped Spiderman's cherry," Wade joked, running his hands down Peter's arms. "I can't decide which makes me more jealous. That he got to save you, or that you had the privilege of delivering the kick in the ass he needed."

Peter laughed, but it was a short-lived sound. "He's always been there for me," he said as he hugged himself and became still. "I won't say we've never fought, that he's never been a jerk or let me down. I can't…" he sucked in a tremulous breath, "I can't even say he came through for me when it mattered most, but I know he tried."

He started to fold into himself, and Wade cupped his hands around his shoulders, "What is it?"

Peter closed his eyes, and then looked up at him, lines of his face set, "I admit, I didn't know he planted the tracer on me, but I'm certain he had a good reason. If, as you suspect, Graveside has been using it to track me, it's because Spiderman gave him access. Tony Stark couldn't hack Spiderman's tracers. And you know what? Given my condition, I actually don't mind that he did."

"So what?" Wade took a step back, "That's it then? You're just going to keep swallowing whatever it is they feel like feeding you?"

"No," he answered flatly, "Spiderman and I are going to have words when he gets back. This won't be our first fight. But I'm also not going to ignore the years of history we have and accuse him of going rogue just because he went behind my back this one time."

"And what if he has?" Wade pressed, crossing his arms, "I have it on good authority that Spiderman's been acting out for months now."

"Yes, he has," Peter stepped forward, "And I know why. Spiderman isn't just fighting crime like he used to. He's hunting for the monster who got away."

SSS-

"I see and hear everything. It's my job to watch and to listen. Currently, that includes monitoring everyone involved in this operation."

Chapter Text

Peter held the elevator door for Wade and then punched the button for their floor.

"I don't like coming back here, Pete," Wade complained once the doors shut, "This is supposed to by my fuck house, not a living situation. It doesn't even qualify as a safe house anymore. It's been compromised."

"Yeah, by Graveside," Peter answered, "All that means is that Spiderman knows where to find us. Besides, I expect Ben hacked into New York's security cameras as soon as the tracer went offline. You really want him digging into your real safe houses?"

"Assuming he hasn't already," Wade groused and spun the bag of Mexican takeout dangling from his hand, "I hate feeling like big brother's watching me."

"You can't be there to protect me 24/7. If something happens and I collapse, you'll be grateful to have me under surveillance."

The elevator dinged and they stepped out onto Wade's floor. No sooner had he turned the lock than Peter heardDance with My Father going off in the loft.

"Fucking watcher," Wade spat.

Peter ignored him and fetched his phone back to the counter. "You're on speaker phone, Ben. Start talking." He let the phone clatter to the countertop and reached for a taco.

"Have you decided I'm the bad guy, then?" the old man's sarcasm came through clearly, even over the cheap-ass speaker.

Wade swore under his breath and slammed a crumpled wrapper down. Peter eyed him silently a moment before he answered, "I'd suggest rethinking your tone, Ben. It's not really the best way to lead into an apology."

"I wasn't aware I had done anything that required absolution. I still believe this is true, but it seems I'm about to be convicted and sentenced without a trial."

"So you have been eavesdropping on us," bits of lettuce flew from Wade's mouth.

"I see and hear everything. It's my job to watch and to listen. Currently, that includes monitoring everyone involved in this operation. Don't delude yourselves into thinking it's just the two of you. I monitor everything involving Spiderman and Richardson, not to mention the dozen odd suspects Spiderman's running down, their associates, families, and so forth."

Graveside hardly stopped to breathe, caught up in a rant that must have been simmering for days. "Do you honestly think I have time to listen with baited breath to every asinine little quip you two throw at each other? If anything, you've been a vexation, what with Peter's metrics spiking every few hours. I've had to write a new program just to filter out the noise, so that the next time his alert goes off, it's because he's actually in need of assistance."

Peter felt the blush crawl up to his roots and pressed his face to his hands, but Graveside wasn't done yet. "I suppose I'll be expected to thank you next, for making the effort a waste, seeing how you've decided to destroy the device that allowed me to monitor Peter's condition, and allowed Spiderman to find him at speed if his condition deteriorates."

"If that's all it was there for," Wade demanded, "Why didn't you tell him about the implant in the first place?"

For a moment, there was silence on the line, "We did."

Peter's blood ran cold. Suddenly, the taco he'd been stuffing in his mouth to distract from the mortification tasted like ash. He could feel Wade watching him, but he didn't want to see.

"Peter?"

Wade gasped. Peter closed his eyes as the familiar voice joined the call.

"Graveside just told me the tracer's gone. What happened? Is Deadpool with you? Wade, I swear, if this is your fault, I will kick your ass. Somebody say something!"

"You're welcome to kick my ass all you like, Spidey," Wade answered, "I'm the one who broke your little toy."

Peter still felt Wade watching him, but he couldn't look up to meet his eyes. He slowly pushed the food away and pressed his face into his hands. He did remember now. It wasn't much. He was looking down at his arm, while Spiderman slipped the tracer beneath his skin. That was all. Just a flash. He couldn't remember anything else.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Deadpool?" Spiderman shouted, "I told you I had a tracer on him."

"You didn't fucking tell me it was inside him. What the fuck was I supposed to do? I've been smelling fish since I got back to this god-forsaken town. First, you're using Parker as bait. Then I find out some mysterious doctor with a magic cure has him doped up on a cocktail I can't begin to unravel. All the while, some old geezer is tracking his every move using an implant he didn't know about. Maybe you didn't catch my movie, but I've been through this shit script before."

"Wade, stop talking," Spiderman snapped, then softened his voice, "Peter? Are you there?"

Peter swallowed and lifted his head from his hands. "I'm here," he answered, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Hey, Pete. What's going on? What's this idiot talking about, unknown doctors and implants and shit? I know you haven't been stuck with him for very long, but he's more than a little crazy. It's not a good idea to let his head run off with shit like that."

"You're one to talk," Wade snorted.

"I told you to shut up, Wade."

"Spiderman," Graveside interrupted them.

"Hold on man. Peter, come on Brother, I have to hear this from you. Tell me you know who Richardson is."

For a long moment, all Peter could do was stare and shake his head, "I… I don't know."

"What are you talking about?" Spiderman's voice came out in a rush, "Of course you know him. It's just been a while. I introduced you two. We've been working with him for months to try to kick this thing. Remember?"

Peter shut his eyes, "No."

"Yes, you do." Spiderman's voice was becoming insistent, "We just need to-."

"Shut up! I don't fucking remember, okay!"

SSSS-

"I can fight this," he swept both thumbs under Wade's eyes, brushing aside the tears; "I can live with this, and I've decided something. I'm not going to be Spiderman about it anymore, drowning myself in my suffering." Wade snorted despite himself and Peter smiled, a gleam coming to light in his eyes. "Instead, I'm going to be fucking Deadpool."

Chapter Text

"Peter!" Wade made a grab for him, but Peter slipped through his grasp and ran, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

A concussive crash came through the phone and Spiderman let out a shriek, "Damn it!"

Wade didn't know what to do. He didn't want to think about what all this meant, what it was he was left to deal with.

Distantly, he heard Spiderman give a wordless scream, followed by another concussive impact. After that, there was nothing for a long minute and then, "Is anyone still there?"

"I am," Graveside said.

Wade braced against the edge of the counter, head bowed, "Hey, ba-," Wade started to use the age-old endearment, when it hit him. Spiderman wasn't his baby boy anymore. The realization slammed into him with the force of a speeding semi, and stole his breath away.

"Deadpool?" Spiderman asked, "Are you still there?"

It was a long moment before Wade could speak again. "Webs."

"Yeah?"

"Tell me there's a chance in hell we can beat this."

He heard Spiderman's breath rush over the microphone, "Shit, Man. He got under your skin, didn't he?"

Wade uttered a mirthless laugh, "In the worst possible way. Now you're going to tell me that you did not just dump me here to sit with a cancer patient, who's on his last legs."

"No," Spiderman's voice started to recover some confidence, "No, I didn't. Graveside."

"Yes?"

"Contact Richardson. Tell him to run a complete evaluation of Peter's condition. We need to know how far it's come. Has there been any progress on his treatment?"

"Already done," he informed them, "The Doctor's still pursuing the mutant angle, but there has been little progress. Perhaps, if Mr. Wilson would be willing to relinquish some samples-."

"Done," Wade snapped, "He can have the whole damn arm, if it will help."

"I doubt that will be necessary, but the gesture is appreciated. Do I have permission to dig up your case files to forward to him?"

Wade bent over and propped his forehead upon his fists, "Do whatever you have to."

"Very well. I'll be in touch."

"Wade?" Spiderman asked at length.

"Still here."

"Right. Listen, I've got myself in bit of bind. Nothing I can't handle, but I can't extract myself either. Are you good to watch him for a while?"

Wade rolled his fists to press his thumbs into his temples, "Spidey, what's going on? Your best friend has cancer, and you're off terrorizing the streets, hunting down some lowlife criminal?"

"Do you want to trade places?"

It was funny. He didn't even have to think about it. "No."

Spiderman huffed a hollow laugh, "Then I'll tell you a secret. I think that makes you a better man than me." Silence. "I messed up, Wade. I fucked up hard, and there's nothing I can do that will ever make it right. Catching this bastard… I know it won't fix what I've done, but if I can take this monster off the streets and lay him out at Peter's feet… Whatever happens with the cancer, he'll know I did everything I could, and that what happened to him will never happen to anyone else, ever again."

Wade sighed, "You're not coming back, are you?"

"Of course I am. What kind of question is that? I'll be swinging by the first chance I get."

"Right," he picked up the phone and cradled it on his fingers, "Good luck, Spiderman."

"Right back at you, Deadpool." The call ended. He closed the phone and let it drop to the countertop.

He didn't want to move. He wanted to run, to jump out the window and fall forever, rather than do what he knew he had to do, what he knew he would do. He would stand by Peter's side, no matter how much it killed him, and wait for cancer to kill his baby boy.

He should go to him. He's been alone too long already.

The thought that Peter could have done something drastic spurred Wade into motion. The fear of what he would find dragged at his feet.

At last, he came to the door and ran his fingers down the cold metal before he turned the knob.

It was dark inside, but for the lamp over the bed, shade turned down to shine the glare at the wall.

"There you are, Good Lookin'," Peter purred at him, "What took you so long?"

Wade stopped just past the threshold, caught dumbstruck as he stared, uncomprehending. Peter lounged on the bed, shoulders braced against the headboard, knees spread in a lazy display of dominance. His clothes were strewn across the floor. He gazed across the room at Wade with half-lidded eyes, one hand lightly stroking his half-mast cock.

Well… this is just about the last thing I expected to find.

Frighteningly so.

"Peter?" He hesitated then closed the door as an afterthought. He didn't like how the glaring light assaulted the atmosphere his boy was trying to create. Not that he was digging the scene, either. The voices were starting to panic, speculating on what Peter was thinking that he'd attempt something like this right now. There was a stillness in the air, though, that brought him some small comfort and the light outside spoiled it.

"What is this?" He asked at last, gesturing around the room.

Peter's mouth curved into a smile, "Just what it looks like. I promise. I'm not going off my rocker. Or maybe I am, and that's the whole point. I just…" he averted his eyes a moment, looking thoughtful, "I wanna say I don't give a fuck anymore, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. I know my situation is fucked up, but I can't remember the last time everything seemed so simple." He shifted his weight, patted the bed beside him, and waited for Wade to join him.

Wade did so, with a tight feeling in his stomach. He realized he was watching Peter like something dangerous, like he could turn at any provocation. Kicking off his shoes, he climbed up against the headboard and cradled Peter's naked hips when he straddled Wade's lap. With gentle fingers butterflying around his neck, Peter leaned in to deliver a gentle, lingering kiss. A second kiss followed the first, and then a third.

Wade felt a knife drive into his chest with every touch until he couldn't see Peter anymore. His vision washed with tears. Dragging his arms around Baby Boy's back, he pulled him to his chest and held him there while he tried to manage his shaking breath and the tears that burned his cheeks.

Peter held him in return, nuzzling the side of his head and whispering in his ear.

"I know it hurts, Babe. I know you're scared. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared too. But I'll tell you a secret," he cradled Wade's face in his hands and leaned back, "I've lived with this for a year now. This isn't the worst pain I've ever felt. Nothing, not the migraines, not the effects of the medicine, nothing this thing can do to me will ever touch the worst pain of my life. As for the fear," he huffed a shallow laugh, "it's a child's fear of the dark next to the terror I've known.

"I can fight this," he swept both thumbs under Wade's eyes, brushing aside the tears; "I can live with this, and I've decided something. I'm not going to be Spiderman about it anymore, drowning myself in my suffering."

Wade snorted despite himself and Peter smiled, a gleam coming to light in his eyes.

"Instead, I'm going to be fucking Deadpool." He laid a finger over his lips when Wade drew a breath, "and make the most of every second I have left, however many there are. Because, no matter how much time I have ahead of me, it's a lifetime more than Benjie ever got to have."

"Who-?" Peter stopped him with another, deeper kiss.

"Ask me again," he whispered and pressed his forehead against Wade's, "When I'm not waiting for you to decide if you're going to woman up, and fuck me into this mattress."

Wade sucked in his breath, and caught Peter's lips again while the boy continued to cradle his face. "I mean," Peter broke the kiss, "I understand if you can't tonight. That's okay. I'll just fuck you instead. Either way, someone's screwed."

Wade growled and rolled Peter onto the bed beneath him, pinning his arms against the pillows while he devoured Peter's lips. Peter yielded to him willingly, moaning into his mouth as Wade dragged his hand down his Baby Boy's side and around the globe of his ass.

Peter gasped when they parted and hooked his arms around Wade's neck. "I want you to fuck me," he whispered while Wade sucked his neck with an open mouth, "I want you to string me up and wear me down."

Something clicked in Wade's mind as he listened to Peter's words, and the voices went silent.

"I want you to make me beg, make me plead. Take every ounce of strength I have and wreck me with it. Please, don't let me wake up tonight, or any other night when I'm with you."

"Every night, Peter," he growled against his lover's skin, "I swear it."

He came back to Peter's mouth, pressing his tongue past his pliant lips while he pinned Peter's cock beneath his jean-clad thigh. Peter writhed, arching his hips to get some friction while Wade ground their lips together.

"That thing you do," he growled when he let Peter breathe, "The thing with the hands."

"You want me to cling?" Peter gasped out.

"What a beautiful word for such a lovely thing. Can you do it anywhere on your body?"

Peter arched his back when Wade went for the soft hollow of his neck, "Never tried."

"You will tonight," he promised. He hauled Peter to the edge of the bed by his ankle, catching his wrist and throwing him, squealing, over his shoulder. While Peter struggled, he strode to the large, pane-glass window and thrust open the curtains.

"Wade, what are you doing?"

"What I said I would do," he answered, hooking his arm around Peter's knees and rocking him back against the glass, "Cling to this. If any part of you touches the floor, you'll pay the penalty." He wasn't sure if Peter could do it. He'd only felt the strength of the strange attraction in the fusion of their flesh. Only that strange pose he held in the shower while they played daddy games made him think it might work on non-living objects to.

Oh, it worked. Back plastered to the glass, Peter managed to pull himself up until Wade's head was level with his chest, by which point Wade's grip on his spread knees was only for show. Slowly, he lowered his hands and let Peter bend his legs back to plants the soles of his feet against the glass. "God, Baby. You could be Spiderman," Wade breathed as he cradled Peter's ass and buried his face in his sternum.

"But I'm not," Peter answered breathlessly against his scalp, "I'm fucking Deadpool."

"No Baby," He reached up to grab Peter's neck, "Tonight I'm fucking you." With a hard yank, he pulled Peter's head down to crush their lips together. With his free hand, he reached between Peter's legs, wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the top of his ball sack, and applied downward pressure.

Peter cried out into his mouth. The glass squealed as he slipped down before he splayed out his arms and clung to the glass for dear life. Slowly, Wade twisted his hand clockwise until Peter trembled and keened into his mouth, and then turned his balls the other way.

"Do you like that, Boy?" he asked in his most husky voice. Gently, he rubbed Peter's scrotum his between his thumb and forefinger while his balls rolled to either side. Peter's head fell back against the glass. Already, he could see how his muscles strained to hold his position. The sheen of sweat on his skin smeared the glass as he rolled his arms, clinging now with the skin on the back of his arms instead of with his hands. "Do you want your Daddy to-."

"No," Peter whimpered, gulping down a breath to give strength to his voice, "Please, no."

"Pete?" Wade cradled Peter in his hand and pressed the palm of his other hand up to the boy's chest, "Baby Boy, what is it?"

"I can't," panting, he let his head roll forward to look into his lover's eyes, "Wade, I'm sorry, but I can't do the Daddy thing tonight. It strips me down. It makes me…"

Wade held his breath when Peter cut himself off, brow furrowed, eyes closing over the shining tears. "Okay, Petey," he said in a rushed whisper, reaching higher to wrap his hand around Peter's neck, "It's okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean-."

"I know," Peter leaned against his hand and opened his eyes, "It's fucking hot as hell. I promise, another night, I'll let you put me in the headspace and we'll ride that roller coaster until the park closes. Tonight, I just need you to fuck me. No games. No kinks. Only the cling. Clinging is good. It's wearing me out. It forces me to focus on the now."

Wade turned his hand to rub his thumb over Peter's lips and groaned when he began to suck on the digit. "All right, Babe. I've got you." He gave Peter's balls a gentle squeeze before stepping in to lay an open-mouthed kiss on his clavicle.

With a gentle tug on his hips, he guided Peter down the glass until they were eye level and then pinned him with a kiss.

Almost better than bondage.

All the benefits without the work.

Yes, but it loses something in the exchange.

He pressed his hands into Peter's flesh and let them roam across his body, over his chest, down the length of his arms. He threaded their fingers together as he kissed down Peter's jaw to his neck, sucking hard and savoring the way he moaned and wriggled. Dragging his hands back, he toyed with his nipples, pinching and rolling the nubs while he attacked Peter's ear.

Before long, Wade heard the suction of his skin tugging against the glass as Peter rocked his hips in shallow, aborted thrusts in time with his whimpering moans.

"Climb higher for me," Wade told him, cupping his hands around Peter's ass and lifting him up until he could hook his arms under Peter's legs and rest his knees on his shoulders.

"Please," Peter's head rolled against the glass as he uttered the plea in a breathless, pitiful whine, "Please, don't toy with me." His hips rocked forward again, his hard cock bouncing mere inches from Wade's face.

"I've got you, Babe." He kissed the weeping glans, flicking his tongue into the slit and sipping Peter's salty essence. "You just cling there. I'll take care of everything." Peter's whimper became a sharp gasp as Wade bent his head down, taking Peter into his throat. He hesitated just long enough to swallow past his gag reflex before he buried his nose in Peter's musky curls.

"Oh, fuck, Wade," Peter keened, head and shoulders bent over Wade's head while he hiked his hips up in tiny little jumps. Only his arms and shoulders held him to the glass. Wade moaned and swallowed, looking up at Peter before he began to move his head.

Peter soon broke down into pleading, gasping little mews, jerking his hips in time to Wade's motion. When he was sure Peter wouldn't fall off him, Wade began to toy with his balls again, scraping his nails gently across his perineum and sack while he teased Peter's hole with his other hand.

We're actually going to fuck him this time, aren't we?

And about damn time.

Wade moaned as he slipped the tip of his finger into Peter's tight hole, panting with his motion as he felt his dick strain painfully against the denim. The thought of thrusting into that tight heat, of splitting Peter open while he screamed and begged was more than he could stand.

"Oh God, Wade." Peter cried, "It feels so good. Please. I can't… Oh god, please. I'm coming. I'm gonna cum!"

Isn't this his first time?

Wade thrust his head down with the thought, face buried in Peter's pubis while Peter arched up into him, screaming his name as his hot seed surged down his throat. He swallowed first by reflex, and then fierce determination to take every drop of Peter's essence that his lover would give him.

The sagging of Peter's thighs was the only warning he had before they were sliding down the glass. He caught Peter in his arms and carried him to the bed. The voices took special note of the twitches and tremors that passed through his body when he laid him out on the covers. His eyes were dilated pools of black. His skin shone with sweat and his face was flush with their lust.

We don't deserve this.

Wade sat on the edge of the bed, taking one of Peter's hands in his, while he brushed his hair back with the other.

Peter leaned into the touch before rolling his head to fix his well-fucked gaze on Wade, "I love you."

Wade gripped his hand a little tighter while the voices in his head began to scream. Not knowing what else to do, he bent down to smoother those lips with a kiss. When he felt Peter begin to respond, he pulled back.

"Roll on your stomach." Peter's breath hitched and his pupils blew wide as Wade tugged up on his hip.

Wade watched him comply, noting the tense lines in his back and the contrasting languor of his neck and limbs from their previous exertions. He felt Peter's eyes on him as he stood and began to strip, listened to the shallow dip in his breathing when his throbbing member sprung free.

"So big…"

Wade smiled and moaned as he stroked himself for Peter's benefit. The choked whine that followed coiled around his spine and stole the breath from his lips. Wasting no more time, he fetched the lube from the nightstand and climbed onto the bed behind Peter.

"Is it…" Peter's whisper was barely audible, "Will it hurt?"

He bent down to kiss Peter's arched back, "Baby boy, you let me worry about that. By the time I'm done with you, the only thing you'll be crying about is how good I make you feel."

Peter gasped out his breath and nodded before shifting his hands and knees farther apart on the bed, bracing.

"Breathe for me, Petey," he rubbed his hand once over his lover's back before he uncapped the bottle and poured the thick fluid over his fingers. Once they were coated, he reached around to stroke Peter's cock and suck on his back while he teased the tight little hole with the pads of his fingers. Peter gasped and whimpered, rocking forward and back again, unable to avoid either of Wade's hands.

Slowly, he dipped the first digit in to the first knuckle and pulled back out, fucking Peter until he saw the tension melt from his back and the boy was pushing back against his hand. "Easy, Babe," Wade stopped stroking Peter's cock and rested his hand on the back of his neck, "I'm gonna take care of you."

Peter took the whole digit with a shuddering moan and a backward push, "Wade."

"I'm right here," he pushed the finger in three or four times before he began to drag it around in circles, stretching Peter and rubbing the walls of his hole.

"Oh god, Fuck! Wade, please."

Pulling out, he joined the second finger to the first and repeated the process, scissoring Peter before he reached for that bundle of nerves. Peter jolted in his hands, spine arched, head thrown back as Wade rubbed his prostate, tearing cry after wordless cry from his lover until he was fucking himself on Wade's finger.

Wade let him carry on, and watched him fist his hands in the covers when Peter impaled himself on the third finger.

"Oh God! Please, Wade. Fuck me. Fuck me, please."

Wade felt a sadistic smile pull at his lips, "I don't know, Babe. I'm not sure you're ready yet."

"Wade!"

With a coordinated motion, Wade pressed Peter's neck down to the bed, removed his fingers, and aligned his dick with Peter's slick hole. "Stay there," he ordered, giving Peter's neck a small shake before releasing him. Peter sobbed and wiggled his hips as his lover teased his opening with the head of his cock.

While Peter was distracted, he coated his cock with lube, then took the boy's hips in his hand and pressed against his sphincter until the muscle gave way. He grunted, his eyes rolling back into his head as he felt Peter's tight heat take him while the boy sang his praises against the sheets.

He started slow, rocking his hips in shallow thrusts, digging a little deeper each time until he felt Peter relax and he bottomed out.

"Fuck me, Peter," he groaned, fighting to keep still while his lover adjusted, "So fucking tight."

"Ugn," Peter shifted and pulled his elbows beneath him, "Feels so good. Fuck me, Wade. Please, make me scream."

That was all the invitation Wade needed. What attempts he made to keep it slow soon gave way to their rising need as Peter pushed back into him with each thrust. "Faster," Peter gasped, "harder, Babe. Give me more. I need more."

Letting go a guttural growl, Wade grabbed Peter's hips and pounded his beautiful little spider, pulling him back into every thrust while his babbling cries drowned out the slap of their crashing bodies.

"So tight. God, you're amazing, Peter. You so tight on my dick."

"Wade. Wade, please. I need…" he flailed his arm back toward his groin, but Wade slapped it aside and reached around, stroking Peter in time with his thrusts until he was screaming into the mattress.

"Yes. Come for me, Baby. Come for me. Come now!"

Peter's body convulsed around his cock as his seed spurted all over the sheets and Wade's hand. The contractions pushed him over the edge as he shouted Peter's name.

The two of them collapsed on the bed in a heap, with Peter trembling as Wade drew him into his arms.

"I love you," Peter whispered into the silence that followed. Wade's breath caught and he held him tighter against his chest.

After a while, Peter tugged at his arms and reached for the edge of the bed.

Wade's heart jumped and cold fear strangled his throat. "Where are you going?" he asked, pulling him back.

Peter moaned as he fell against Wade's chest. "Need my night meds, Babe."

Oh. "I got them, Babe." He kissed the skin behind Peter's ear and then went to fetch his medicine and some water.

SSS-

"It's like flipping a switch, isn't it Baby Boy? One moment you're here. Then, with a word, you're lost to it aren't you."

Chapter Text

Peter woke, certain he'd contracted Wade's healing factor. It sure as fuck felt like he'd been dropped into a jet engine and left to regenerate on the blistering cement. He tried to move and failed. It wasn't even that his muscles felt weak. It felt like his body had turned into tempered clay, brittle and tight. He knew it was just the rough meds, but it didn't stop his body from trying to convince him that if he so much as flexed a finger, the muscles attached to it would rip and tear.

One finger at a time, he flexed his muscles back and forth, stretching them until they hurt, forcing elasticity back into his body. Wade came in as he was dragging his sorry carcass up onto his knees and elbows.

"Shit, Pete." Peter heard rushing footsteps, and hissed when he felt Wade's hands on his back and face, "What happened? Where are you hurt?" He sounded so worried. It occurred to Peter that Wade thought he had hurt him. Rough sex probably hadn't helped his situation, but he'd be damned before he told Wade that.

"Meds," he managed to croak out instead. He heard Wade breathe through his teeth, felt the air on his face before his conceded.

"Okay. I'll get them. Just lay back down." He didn't leave until Peter had eased back onto his side, helping him where he could until he realized touch was causing him pain.

He came back with the pillbox and a bottle of water and began systematically feeding the capsules to him two or three at a time. The pillow was soaked through by the end of it, as Peter was unable to lift his head to drink. Eventually, Wade bottlenecked the flow with his finger, so that the water trickled into his mouth until he could swallow.

"That's the last one," Wade breathed and knelt beside the bed until his head was level with Peter's, hands ghosting over his skin. "How are you feeling, Babe. Any better? How long does it take for these things to take effect?"

Peter blinked slowly at him, and flinched when he reached across the bed for Wade, "Mask…"

"Hm?" Deadpool cocked his head, and then touched his chin, "Oh yeah, my face. We're heading out later. It's no big. I always wear my skin when I know I'm going to be dealing with snooty people."

"People?" Peter furrowed his brow, "Why?"

Deadpool crossed his arms on the mattress and rested his chin on them, "Babe, much as I appreciate your valiant ability to keep your reactions to my deformities to yourself, I know I'm not the homecoming king. If people are gonna stare at me, they're going to stare at what I want them to."

Peter frowned, but couldn't give voice to the words he wanted to use to shoot that sentiment down. Not yet anyway.

Wade hummed and cocked his head to the side, "No come back, huh? You're really not feeling well."

He sighed, "Just meds. I'll get high soon. Loosen up. Feel better."

"That's right," Wade scooted closer to the bed, "You were saying something about that. Like, the pills you sleep on are the rough ones." His mask pulled against his face, "They hurt you, don't they. That's why you wanted me to wear you out."

Peter managed a nod and found the motion marginally easier than one before. "It's the dose that kills the cancer. The problem is it nearly kills me too. I spend the rest of the day recovering; have a few good hours in the evening. Wash. Rinse. Repeat, ad nauseam." He closed his eyes and let himself drift for a minute, exhausted by the little monologue.

"Well, that explains a few things, at least." He felt Wade's gloved hand brush his cheek, "I'm gonna make us breakfast. Come join me when you can." Peter managed a grunt that, to him, sounded more like a whine when Wade's hand disappeared. Still, he was grateful: everything fucking hurt and while the contact was welcome, love hurt too.

When he felt he could reasonably stand on his own power, he crawled out of bed, pain be damned. The steaming hot shower tore a strangled gasp from his throat. He endured, though, and let the scalding heat burrow into his flesh and pound it back to life. When he came out, he found a pile of clothes folded neatly on the counter; more of Wade's sweat pants and a tee shirt.

"I do have clothing of my own," he informed his lover as he dragged his feet to across the freezing tile.

"I've seen them," Wade answered and fetched a plate of scrambled eggs and pancakes from the warm oven, "And I've decided I'm going to toss them."

"What are you talking about?" Peter mumbled as he dragged the chair out and laid his head down on the table.

"I'm talking about those homeless rags of yours." Peter winced when the clack of the plate touching the table exploded in his ear, "I'm tired of looking at them. They've bothered me since I first saw them, and I can't understand why you insist on wearing them." He stopped talking then. Peter sensed Wade standing over him, but he was too beat down to do anything about it.

"Hey," Peter sucked in his breath when he felt Wade's gentle hand on the back of his neck, "What can I do?"

He started to shake his head, then smiled and lifted his head enough to look up at him, "Be Deadpool. Just keep being my hero."

Wade's fingers carded through his hair, "I'm no one's hero, Baby."

"You are now," he murmured and laid his head back down.

"Well, damn," Wade whispered, before taking on the flippant attitude Peter met at the HellHouse, "Fine. Then my first act as a hero is to make sure you eat your breakfast. The most important meal of the day, and all that." He flopped down in his chair and touched Peter's arm, "I'll be happy to feed it to you if you want."

Peter snorted and pushed off the table, smiling, "I think I can feed myself, Daddy." Wade's mask pulled against his mouth with his sharp inhale. Peter winked at him and started to pull his plate to him when he stopped. "Wade?"

"Yes, Son."

That Wade used his husky, bedroom voice was almost lost to Peter. The breath evaporated from his lungs and left him a lightheaded as a thrill swept across his skin. He closed his eyes and braced on the table. He most certainly did notswoon. "Babe," he breathed, trying to keep the tremor from his voice, "Please be careful when you use that word."

"Fucking hot," he heard Wade mutter before he kicked back his chair and bent over Peter, one hand cradling his neck while the other slipped under his shirt to rest on his heart. Peter shivered when he felt Deadpool's hot breath against his ear, "It's like flipping a switch, isn't it Baby Boy? One moment you're here. Then, with a word, you're lost to it aren't you."

"Daddy," he was aware his breathy voice came out a tenuous whimper, but he couldn't quite remember why he should care, "Please."

"Oh my god, Peter," Wade held Peter tight, his wind blowing hot against Peter's neck. When he caught his breath, Wade pressed his lips to the cone of Peter's ear, "I want you to listen to me carefully, Son." Peter keened and felt Wade's grip on him tighten, "I'm going to tell you something, and you're going to close your eyes. When you open them, you'll be Peter Parker again, and I'll be here waiting for you. You understand?"

Breath coming in shallow gasps, eyes still rolled up in his head, Peter managed to jerk his head in a vague nod. Wade placed a kiss on the side of his neck and then spoke in a firm voice, "Son… you're grounded."

Peter gasped, his eyes flying wide open as he sucked in blessed air. Like sunlight cutting through the clouds, the haze began to clear away and he could think again. Then it hit him, what Wade had just done.

"Oh god," he hunched his shoulders over and pressed his face into his hands, shaking.

"Pete?" Wade pulled his hand back through Peter's hair, "Petey, what's wrong? Babe?"

Peter shuddered and curled tighter on himself. Suddenly, Wade released him and then jerked his chair back across the tile.

Wade braced on Peter's knees before he tried to pull his hands gently from Peter's face. "Come on, Baby. Look at me." Peter wanted to obey him, to hear Wade tell him it was okay, but he couldn't stop the shaking. His hands had practically fused to his face and all he wanted to do was curl up under the table and hide.

"Peter," Wade's sharp voice made him jump and he used his advantage to pull Peter's hands down to his lap. He still tried to hide, head bent so far forward that his chin pressed against his chest, while Wade held his shaking hands.

"You have to talk to me, Pete," Wade urged, kissing the backs of his Peter's white knuckles, "Tell me what happened so I can fix it."

"I don't know if you can." Peter felt the tears splash against his arms and finally looked up as his love, "It scares me, Wade. It fucking terrifies me that you can put me in that place and yank me out again whenever you want."

"You think I would hurt you?"

Peter shook his head, "No. No, never. But… There's a pain in that place. It's hot and good, and you're there. I need, so much it hurts. But there's also sadness, and fear, and loneliness. I feel so small, and I keep getting smaller until I think the monster's going to take you away like it's taken everyone else."

Wade rubbed the backs of Peter's hands with his thumbs and laid a kiss on each of his fingers before looking up into his face. "Baby boy, I'm sorry. But I have to ask." He squeezed Peter's hands, "Does Benjie have something to do with this?"

Peter sucked in his breath and tried to pull away, but Wade held him fast. "I'm not letting you go," he told him forcefully, "And I'm not going anywhere." Gripping both of Peter's hands in his, he pulled at the Velcro at the back of his mask.

"What I am going to do, is find that monster of yours," the Velcro gave way, and he tore his mask off, "and remind it why I'm what monsters fear in the dark."

SSSS-

When Peter curled a little tighter in his arms, Wade decided he was done fishing. He kept his voice soft and warm, but hardened it enough to push Peter's inner submissive in the right direction, "Who is Benjie?"

Chapter Text

Wade opened the curtains on his breathtaking view of New York while Peter brought lemonade.

No drinking for the little spider. Nope. Not on my watch.

You're not fooling anyone. You want him plastered so bad you can taste it.

*Sniff* I can have that once he's well.

Kill me…

"Just set them there," Wade indicated the low coffee table while he rolled onto the sofa, his leg stretched across the cushions. He gave his thighs a gentle pat and held out his arms, drawing his reluctant lover into his arms.

"I'm right here, Babe," he whispered into Peter's soft brown hair, "I'm not going anywhere, but I'm not going to let you sit on this anymore, either. Talk to me. Please." When Peter curled a little tighter in his arms, Wade decided he was done fishing. He kept his voice soft and warm, but hardened it enough to push Peter's inner submissive in the right direction, "Who is Benjie?"

His lover tensed, and then wilted against him.

"My son."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck!

Didn't he imply Benjie's dead?

I'ma fucking kill them all!

Wade focused a moment on breathing while the voices devolved into screaming, murderous demons. With deliberation, he pulled Peter close and wrapped his limbs around Peter's body, "Start from the beginning. Tell me everything."

Peter gasped out laughing sob, "Where else would it begin, but Spiderman?"

Wade drew another measured breath, smelling the shampoo in Peter's hair and using it to remain calm, "Then start with Spiderman."

"I hate him," Peter said at length, a touch of venom in his breath. "I love him." A breath of hero-worship. "I lost everything because of him."

Wade didn't say anything while Peter breathed through the brief rush of tears. When he started to pull away, Wade wanted to hold him down, but his lover was just turning round to curl on the couch, facing him.

"He blames himself," Peter continued, head resting against the back cushions, "He always did. When we were kids, before the mask, he was being an ass one night and didn't stop this robber from getting away. The crook came upon my uncle in his escape, and killed him." Peter's face twisted with the pain of it, and Wade leaned closer, a hand clasped on his arm.

"My Uncle was only out because he was looking for us. He went on the hunt after that, but he never found the guy who did it." He sucked in his breath and scraped the tears away. He wasn't looking at anything, his gaze lingering on some distant point over Wade's shoulder.

"There was this girl, MJ. We went to high school together. Both of us fancied her. There was no way I could compete with someone who could literally sweep her off her feet. The first time we ever came to blows was over her. I couldn't count how many times he swung right past me to carry her away."

He sniffed and pulled a tight, reminiscent smile, "To this day, I don't know why I kept playing the game. A few years ago, it paid off. I asked her to marry me, and she said yes."

Wade rubbed Peter's arm with his thumb, "I'm glad to hear she turned into a smart cookie after all."

Baby boy blew a kiss at him, and then continued, "We moved in together. Neither of us put much stock in the whole 'traditional marriage' bullshit. Before we knew what we were doing, we were starting a family."

His eyes were tearing up again, and Wade couldn't stand it. Gently insistent, he pulled Peter back into his arms and settled in to cradle him while he talked.

"She knew about my friendship with Spiderman, and I didn't hold their old escapades against them. I don't know if she ever figured out who he is. I never asked. There were many nights when he'd just drop in and she'd set a place for him at the table. Sometimes it felt like we were back in high school again."

He went silent for a long while after that, long enough Wade became concerned.

Here it comes.

His voice took on a darker tone and Wade felt his boy tighten in his arms, "One day, I came home. The place was trashed, and she was gone. I looked everywhere for her, while Spiderman scoured the city. The bastards waited four fucking days to contact me. They demanded Spiderman's unconditional surrender in exchange for her safety. They'd drawn the same conclusions you did about the photos.

"Spiderman was all set to go after her." His tone became hot and hard, "I stopped him. I insisted he take me along. She was my fiancé, carrying my child. I'd be damned before I sat helplessly on the sidelines this time. I tried to convince him to let me wear his suit. I'd go in and be the decoy while he got her out.

"Bastard tried to talk me out of it. He said I could never convincingly impersonate him."

Wade didn't know if he should snort his laughter or not, so he settled with a neutral, "We both know how wrong he was."

"He left. I stole one of his spare uniforms. I think he'd forgotten that I helped him design the original shooters and that we'd practiced with and refined them together. Yes, he'd modified them over the years, but the basic design was the same. By this point, my mutation had long since taken root. I went after him and didn't take no for an answer."

He pushed away and knelt between Wade's legs. Those solemn, red-rimmed eyes bore into his and Wade saw the shadows of torture lingering within them.

"At first, the plan went down perfectly. I made an entrance, put on a show of surrender. The mask came off and the predictable shenanigans followed. They bought it, though, and captured me. Turns out Spiderman had a harder time bypassing their security than we'd planned. He got caught. They thought he was a civilian."

God damn it, make him stop talking!

It's a bit late for that, Dipshit. We pushed him into this. Now we're going to see it through.

But he's starting to look like us!

'We're going to fix this,' Wade announced, to the voices amazement.

How, exactly, do you plan to do that?

'I have an idea.'

Oh god. We're all going to die.

We haven't done that in a while. Be a change of pace.

"They didn't let MJ go like they said they would." Peter's expression had gone blank. Dangerous. "She went into labor. They tied her down in front of me. No one lifted a finger to help her. Instead, they were too busy pumping me full of shit and torturing me, while I was forced to watch."

"Holy mother of fuck, Peter," Wade leaned forward and clasped Peter's hand.

"Her labor lasted for hours. I don't know how long for sure."

"I understand," Wade spoke in his dark voice, one normally reserved for the marks who really deserved the receiving end of his services. This time, he felt it drop a half-octave lower: a dark, lethal, bedroom voice. It caught Peter's attention, and he vowed never to use this voice with anyone else. "Under those conditions, time has no meaning."

"It really doesn't," he answered, his voice a softer mirror of his own. "She gave birth on that table. The baby cried, but they just left them there. Spiderman finally managed to escape and find us. He took out the bastards in the lab and cut me down. We grabbed MJ and the baby and ran.

"They weren't having it, of course. Spiderman fought and we tried to find a way out. Explosions went off. The building caught fire. MJ and I were separated. I tried to find her, but I was so fucked up."

Peter's gaze was drifting again. "I barely made it out with my life. Choking. Half-alive. All I could do was watch the building burn. Just as I began to despair, Spiderman cleared a window with MJ in his arms. She wasn't moving. They were both covered in her blood. We rushed her to the ER, but…"

"What happened to the baby?" Wade asked, gripping Peter's hands.

Peter shook his head, "Bastard in charge cornered Spiderman and MJ. He took her hostage while she was holding our child. Thatmonstershot them to distract Spiderman while he escaped."


	3. Chapter 3

Wade's mask pulled over his smile, "There you are." "What?" "The punk ass who flipped off my bartender. I was starting to think that was just a front." Peter snorted and returned the smile, "I told you, I only dance when I need to blow off steam."

Chapter Text

Peter emptied his guts into the toilet, then braced on the tank and breathed while the bile swirled down the drain.

Wade was outside waiting for him. He'd tried to follow him, to support him while he heaved, but Peter locked the door. At first, he thought his lover would break it down, but the pounding went silent soon thereafter.

He splashed blessedly cool water on his face and patted dry. The man who met his eye in the mirror was both strange and comfortably familiar, with the hard line of his lips and jaw, and the sharp darkness in his eyes. He couldn't count how many times he'd seen this face since this mess got started. But today, for the first time, it felt like it was his own and not some stranger glaring back at him.

Braced against the counter, he flexed his grip. It wasn't enough to do anything, of course, but the burn in his muscles was almost pleasant. If only he'd started building his strength sooner. He might have been able to save them.

Outside, he found Wade leaning against the wall in full Deadpool uniform.

"You don't have to hover over me," Peter told him. He tried to temper his voice, but he wasn't in the mood for softness and it came out with a bite.

"I'll do whatever I damn well please," Deadpool responded with a sharpness of equal measure.

"I'm not like you," Peter faced him, "My cancer doesn't just magically balance out. I'm going to hurt. I'm going to get sick. There's nothing you or anyone else can do to change that."

For a second, he thought Wade would snap back, would lash out at the reference to his own condition. Instead, his mask pulled over his smile, "There you are."

"What?"

"The punk ass who flipped off my bartender. I was starting to think that was just a front."

Peter snorted and returned the smile, "I told you, I only dance when I need to blow off steam. Speaking of, be a doll and draft me a contract, will you? I feel like putting on a show."

"I can tell." Wade followed him into the main loft, where the silks dangled from the rafter. Peter gave one an experimental tug and then tried to climb. His muscles burned and he began to sweat almost at once, but he also felt Wade's eyes on his back and pushed himself higher. Even so, he barely made it half way up the line before the wave of lightheadedness hit him, and forced him to slide back down.

Deadpool caught him and held him against his chest while he caught his breath. "I know you want to, Babe," he lowered his mouth to Peter's ear, "but are you sure you're able to put on a show?"

"I'll be better tonight," he promised, "I always am."

Wade nodded and held him tighter, "I'm sorry."

Peter looked back at him, "For what?"

"For giving you a hard time about the alley," He answered, "I didn't know about this. If you'd been in top condition-."

"I still wouldn't have been able to beat them," Peter interrupted him, "Escape them, maybe. I don't know. Suppose it would've depended on whether they worked for the Monster or not."

"That would be my bad, wouldn't it?" Wade released him and came around to hang off the silks, "I capped them before you could find out. Spiderman already reamed my ass over that."

"Doesn't matter now," Peter muttered, enjoying the way Wade's muscles played under the suit. The mercenary wrapped his arms in silk and lifted himself into a pull-up. Peter groaned as the muscles bunched in his back, and Wade brought his legs up over his head into a handstand.

"That settles it. I'm tying you back up tonight."

Wade laughed, "Only if you can catch me, Spider." He held the handstand for a solid minute before dismounting. "Yes. This will do nicely."

Peter crossed his arms when Deadpool began to inspect the fabric, "In what way?"

"The man who did this to you," he changed the subject and met Peter's eye, "He's the one I'm protecting you from, isn't he? The fucker thinks you're Spiderman and is still after you, isn't he?"

Peter inclined his head, "I don't know if he still thinks I'm Spiderman or not. What I do know is that I'm the one he pumped full of chemicals while Spiderman watched from a cage."

"What was he injecting you with, anyway?"

"Not a clue. I imagine the doctor knows. I probably did too, but seeing as how I'm starting to forget shit," he shrugged and looked away.

"And speak of the devil. We have an appointment with the man in," he pulled back his glove to look at his hello kitty watch, "about two hours."

"I'll take my meds, then."

"What does this round do? Do you remember?" Wade asked.

"Aside from painkillers?" Peter glanced back at him before pouring a glass of water, "Mainly, it reawakens my mutations."

"Wait," Deadpool held up his hands, "Hold the phone for one damn minute. You're saying this doctor can suppress your powers?"

Peter popped the pills, downed the glass of water, and wiped away the dribble, "Has to. While I'm nowhere near your legendary healing ability, I do have… what do you people call it… a factor?" Deadpool nodded. "It fucks with the treatment. I think because the meds were killing me as much as cancer, the factor went into overdrive before Doc started suppressing it. Cancer was healing faster than the meds could take it down."

Wade leaned against the counter, chin on his fist, "Nice to know you still remember some things."

"Well, when the height of your day resides in a few precious hours at night, I think you'd be inclined to remember why too." He set the glass down, "To be honest, I just now pieced that back together. I do remember some things. Just flashes, but they're there. Like when Spiderman implanted the tracer."

He looked up at Wade, "I want him to give me another one. I don't care that it means Graveside will be listening in. I'd feel better knowing that if I go down, someone will know the instant it happens, and can let you guys know. The old man can kiss my ass over the spiking metrics."

"I'll kiss your ass just to make them spike," Wade waggled his brows suggestively and Peter smiled.

"How about I string you up and sit on your face? How does that sound?"

Wade hummed dreamily, "Like heaven. It's a date then." He bounced off the counter and checked his watch, "Almost time to go, Sugar Tits. I'll call the cab. You go get yourself dressed."

"In what?" he crossed his arms, "You're throwing away my clothes, remember?"

"Yeah, and I'll replace them. This afternoon, if you're up to it." Peter rolled his eyes and started back to the bedroom when Wade stopped him, "Hey, that reminds me."

He turned around and Wade rubbed the back of his head, "If it's none of my business, just say so, but where's all that money you make going? Even in hiding, you should be able to afford a decent place to stay if you pay in cash and use a false name. It wouldn't leave a trail."

Peter frowned and thought about it. Where was the money going? "I wanna say it sinks into the meds," he answered at last, "Shit's not cheap. I don't really care about the money, so I haven't been paying much attention to it. I just deposit it into an account. The operation fund, I think. Check with Graveside, but I'm pretty sure we all have access. I mostly use it for takeout and shit."

Wade nodded, looking unhappy, "I will. Go on and get dressed, Babe."

The cab pulled up to an old office building with a big 'Space for Rent' banner out front. "Are you sure this is the right place, Mr. Pool?" the driver asked, "There doesn't seem to be anyone home."

"It sure looks that way, doesn't it?"

Peter waited for Wade to pull some cash from one of his large utility pouches and pay the driver, "That should be enough to cover the afternoon. Go get yourself something to eat, Dopinder. I'll be calling you again in a couple hours."

"Anytime, Mr. Pool." Wade clapped the man on the shoulder and got out of the car.

"Friend of yours?" Peter asked as the cab drove off.

"Yeah. We go way back. Come on, let's get this over with."

Deadpool's phone dinged and he pulled up a text from Graveside with the suite number. The door opened without issue, but the lights were out inside. As they followed the numbers on the doors, Peter felt pressure begin to build behind his eyes and rubbed his temple.

"A migraine, Babe?" Wade asked. Peter restrained a scoff. He wouldn't be able to cough now without Wade asking about it. Annoying as the thought was, though, it also made him smile. It had been a long time since anyone cared enough to fuss over him like that.

"Nah," he answered lightly, "Just a pressure headache this time. I get normal people headaches too."

He moaned softly and stopped when Wade cupped his hand around the back of his neck and began to rub the muscles there. When Peter didn't stop him, his lover moved behind him and worked his shoulders until he began to melt in his hands.

"Better?"

Peter hummed and nodded.

They found the suite toward the back of the building. Wade rolled his shoulders and touched his weapons before pushing through the door.

Inside, they found a middle-aged man with a balding head and a beard sitting on the corner of a pop-up table, talking to a plump woman in scrubs. There were no other furnishings in the room. The table held the only electronics in sight: a laptop and some small pieces of lab equipment. There was also a hefty medical kit, a case for specimen containers, and a lab coat.

"Peter," the man stood up and opened his arms, "Right on time. How are you doing?"

Peter frowned and looked the man over, "Richardson?" The pleasant expression on the man's face fell and became serious.

"Graveside said there was some memory loss, but didn't think… You really don't remember me, do you?"

Peter tried not to grimace as the pressure spiked, "I really don't. I'm sorry."

The doctor nodded, "I suppose I should introduce myself then. I'm Parker Richardson, M.D. I've been working with Graveside and Spiderman on your case. This is my assistant, Penny." He indicated the woman behind him. "And you must be our new associate, Mr.-?" he held out his hand to Wade.

"Deadpool," he answered, gripping the man's hand, "I've been hired on as Peter's bodyguard."

"Mr. Pool," Richardson nodded, "Graveside read me in on your remarkable healing ability. He tells me you're willing to donate some samples."

Peter ground his teeth and rubbed his temple while the two of them dealt with formalities.

"Mr. Parker?" Peter looked up to find the doctor peering into his eyes, mouth pursed, "Let's get you into the examination room. Please," he indicated the door beside the table.

Deadpool had removed his glove and was rolling up his sleeve when they started to leave the room. "You can examine him here, Doc," he barked, "Peter doesn't leave my sight."

"It's okay, Wade." Peter swallowed back the rising tide of nausea, "I think… There's a scanning device, isn't there?" He looked to the doctor, who nodded.

"You remember. That's good. Yes, there is." He glanced at Wade when the mercenary stood.

"Show me."

The doctor obliged him, opening the door onto another stripped-bare room. The only item of note was a refrigerator-looking-thing, leaning back against the wall, with large cables running out the open window.

"You're friend," the doctor indicated Wade, who went in to inspect the room, "Is he okay to see the scans?"

Peter bit back another wave of nausea and nodded. The doctor instructed Penny to boot up the device.

"Bring the table in here," Wade ordered and planted his back against the wall. "I don't care if you're fucking Santa Clause and his little elf. I'm not leaving his side."

"Do it," Peter bit out, pinching his fingers over his brow, "Let's get this over with. I want to go home."

Peter didn't wait for them to reply. Instead, he punched the release for the door and stepped inside the scanner.

SSS-

"I scrutinized your background when Spiderman brought you to me. You're a psychopathic, schizophrenic, murdering megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur. I wasn't about to trust you with anything until I'd a chance to evaluate you myself."

Chapter Text

Dr. Richardson sighed and looked up into the black space.

"Graveside. Are the scans ready yet?"

"They're coming online now."

"Finally," he muttered and leaned forward, "Send them to me please."

The air in front of him lit up with holographic displays. He indicated the full body scans, bringing them to the forefront and, with lips pursed, began to study them.

Deadpool stood still, tolerating the woman as she stuck him with needles, drawing blood and god knows what other samples. She wasn't inconsequential, but his primary attention was on the doctor perched on the folding chair. He admitted the man had mad typing skills. He hadn't been able to catch one of his passwords yet. Not that it mattered. He was going to insist this shit got sent to him first thing when they got home.

Peter said he wants to go home. Do you think he meant with us?

He'd better. We're spanking him if he thinks he's going back to that rat hole again.

"Focus," Wade muttered, catching the woman's attention.

"I'm sorry?"

Wade shook his head and fixed his attention on the screen as the first image came up. Biting back the sick tension in his stomach, he pulled the needle out of his arm and bent over to get a closer look.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god…

Fuck.

He felt faint and took a knee by the table, not caring if it looked deliberate or not.

There were tumors everywhere. Lungs… Kidneys… Spleen… A cluster of them burrowed in Peter's head, looking like a fucking tiara.

It was too much.

Don't get squeamish yet. We've got to verify one more thing.

He steeled himself and looked back at the images. This time, he ignored the intrusive masses and focused on the outline of the body. He painted everything he knew about Peter's body against the images, comparing them, determined to see if they matched up.

He thought they did. The only way to know for sure was to print one out and lay his lover up against it. But yeah…

Looks legit.

Damn it.

Wanna shoot something?

Hell yes!

"Hey, doc?" The doctor looked up at him as he stood.

"Can I get a private word with you? I've got a question I need to ask," he indicated the other room. When the doctor nodded and started to rise, he looked to the nurse, "You too, missy. I don't want to disturb the little prince."

He led them into the other room and eased the door to behind him.

"What is it?" the doctor asked.

Wade pulled no punches. In point-five seconds flat, he had his desert eagles trained on them and smiled. "Well, let's see, Doc. First, let's start with the basics," he looked the pale man in the eye, "You're going to tell me who the fuck you are. You're gonna tell me now, and if I don't like your answer," he cocked the hammer on the little nurse's gun, "I will shoot her. Capish?"

"Mr. Pool-," the so-called doctor tried, but Wade cut him off.

"Oh, please," he drew the word out in a near-whine, "Spare me the 'Mr. Pool' act, will you? I've been digging into this case since it landed in my hot little lap. And for the last… oh, twelve hours or so, I've been especially interested in you, Doc. Ever since Graveside let slip your name, in fact."

He saw the woman twitch as if she thought about moving. He jerked the gun up from her chest to her head. "Whatever it is, I wouldn't do it if I was you, Sweetheart," he advised her in his sweetest valley-girl voice, "Maybe you don't realize it, but you're actually in a very precarious position. You see, Penny," he looked at her, "I haven't slept for 36 hours, going on 48, so I'm already twitchy. But what makes it even worse for you, Hun, is that I don't know who you are… and I don't care. You're disposable. So be a good girl, get down on the floor, and sit on your hands. Go on," he jerked his gun down toward the floor, "There now. That's a pet."

Once she settled, he set one of the voices to watch her, and then put her from his mind.

"Let's see… Where were we, Doc? Ah! That's right," he grinned and cooed at the man as if he was an itty-bitty toddler, "You don't exist, do you? No, you don't. Because Deadpool's been googling you. Yes, I have. And I went climbing around the dark web too. And guess what? I can't find anything about a mister Parker Richardson M.D., who specializes in anything remotely related to cancer." The more he talked, the lower and more dangerous his voice became until he was practically snarling at the man, "much less have the creds I would expect Spiderman to require of a caliber specialist before recruiting him to save his best… friend's… life."

By this point, both were quivering before him. He'd be lying if he said that didn't tickle that special little itch, but… it only tickled. Most women, by this point, would be blubbering; reduced to whimpering streaks of mascara. As for the civilian quack, he should have wet himself by now. Yet there they were, both stubbornly refusing to fulfill their end of the bargain in this scenario.

In fact, the damn quack had the nerve to stand there and try to stare him down.

Guess they wanna die after all.

Guess so.

He cocked the hammer and took aim… and then soft clicking interrupted the silence.

Wade frowned. Clicking? There shouldn't be clicking. Why was there clicking?

Slowly, guns still trained on the quacks, he stepped back and looked at the door. Something was moving on the other side. "Peter?"

Can't be... He'd have put a stop to our fun by now.

With his elbow, he eased the door open and blinked.

Peter sat at the table, staring avidly at the computer, typing away.

"Babe?"

He didn't even glance up. He was completely absorbed in his urgent typing. Then Wade noticed he'd put on the lab coat.

"I wouldn't disturb him, Mr. Pool," a man said softly.

He turned back to the civilian, who had calmly raised his hands, "Oh really? Why's that?"

"Because you're right. I'm not Parker Richardson," he inclined his head toward the door, "He is."

"What?" he let the guns fall, along with the wind in his sails.

"Penny, are you done yet?" Peter called. The woman glanced up at Wade, who growled and waved her on, disarming and holstering his weapons.

I'm Not Here for Your Entertainment vibrated his pouch. The civvie averted his eyes and ducked past Wade as well while he dug out his phone. He didn't even look at the caller Id.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Are you beginning to understand, Mr. Wilson?"

"Fuck you," Wade snapped and began pacing around the small office room, "I don't understand shit. What the hell is going on?"

"For someone so efficient at what they do, it boggles my mind how incompetent you are."

"I love you too, Sweetheart," he simpered into the phone, "Are we gonna have phone sex now?"

Graveside scoffed onto the microphone, "You've seen the scans?"

"I have."

"Good. You should know I've been monitoring your investigation and I'm aware Peter read you in this morning."

"I expected you to be watching my web browser, but how the hell do you know what we were talking about in my loft?"

"There's a spider tracer in his phone," Graveside informed him, matter-of-fact, "Not as sophisticated as the one you destroyed, but it's an adequate backup until the primary unit can be replaced."

Wade turned to slouch against the wall, fingers rapping against the drywall, "As much as I really want to kill you right now, Graveside, I want to know what's going on more. So are you going to start talking, or do I have to interrogate your peons?"

"You wouldn't be in a position to interrogate anyone if I wasn't ready to brief you in full."

"Oh, lovely. I have grandpa's approval."

"You've seen the scans," Graveside started in on his lecture, "You know, now, the cancer is primarily centered in Peter's brain. You've encountered some symptoms of the brain damage, though not in the same light as the rest of us. You've also done a thorough background check on Peter himself."

"When are you going to get to the point where you tell me something I don't know?"

"Peter is attempting to formulate his own cure. He has been since we discovered the cancer, with measurable success. His is an especially malignant variety, one that would've likely killed him by now, had he chosen to go with more traditional treatments. As near as we can determine, it's a direct result of the trauma he suffered."

"Seeing as that monster pumped him full of Chemical X, I can't say I'm surprised."

"Eight months ago, he started showing symptoms of dissociative identity disorder." Wade frowned and looked through the open door, where the two civvies were assisting Peter in analyzing tissue samples.

"He would forget thing's he'd researched about his condition," Graveside continued, "until he turned his attention to the task, at which point he'd forget things about his daily life. Over time, this dissociation manifested as the persona who refers to himself as Dr. Richardson, who is working tirelessly to save the life of his patient. In this state, he has no understanding that he is Peter Parker, or that he's trying to save his own life.

"Every attempt to break through this delusion has resulted in panic attacks and, in severe instances, catatonia until one personality or another can reassert itself." Wade knocked his head against the wall and shut his eyes, remembering how Peter ran off when Spiderman confronted him about Richardson. "These reassertions are typically accompanied by enforcers, a sort of mental block that strengthens the persona and further separates it from the others."

"If you knew that, why the hell was Spiderman pushing him about Richardson?" Wade demanded.

"Because your investigation unearthed a new development, the memory loss. He was testing the extent of Peter's amnesia. The fact that Peter didn't know that Spiderman hadn't introduced him to Richardson was a disturbing development. Now, in order to safeguard against further deterioration, we are left with the task of providing Peter with a 'Dr. Richardson' to fill the role when Peter is not."

Deadpool sighed, "Hence, the peons."

"Indeed."

"You know you could have read me in on this sooner, and saved us both a lot of trouble."

"Would you have believed me, if you hadn't seen the effects yourself?" Wade had no come back for that. "Besides, I scrutinized your background when Spiderman brought you to me. You're a psychopathic, schizophrenic, murdering megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur. I wasn't about to trust you with anything until I'd a chance to evaluate you myself."

"How 'bout you twist that knife a little harder, Old Man. I think you missed my spleen."

"Shut up, Wilson. I have evaluated you and despite everything working against you… You've earned my trust."

"Say what?"

"Since you came into my purview, you've acted with inscrutable integrity and discretion with regard to Peter's case. Your focus has always been on Peter's safety first, even above his own comfort. Your actions have brought to light deteriorating aspects of his condition that might otherwise have gone undetected. For that alone, you have my gratitude."

"Aww. You're gonna make me cry."

"Add to that," he doggedly persisted, "the fact that Peter, through whatever lapse of judgment, has chosen you as a companion - something he's explicitly rejected since his capture, I might add – makes you an invaluable asset. You have the potential to stabilize him in ways I can't begin to achieve, in my position. It's even possible you could become a crucial element to the success of our operation, and saving Peter's life."

Wade took a moment to digest this and studied his lover in the other room. Peter, who wasn't Peter. Who couldn't even see Deadpool right now, and if he did, all he saw was a bodyguard. Peter, who at this moment was fighting for his life, the only way he could.

He put the phone back up to his ear, "What do you want me to do?"

SSS-

"Here we are, Babe," Wade turned the key in the lock, "Home sweet home." Holding the door open, he let Peter inside. The deja-vu didn't escape him. He could feel Wade watching him as he crossed the threshold and entered his lover's most private space.

Chapter Text

Peter woke in the back of Dopinder's cab, tucked against Wade's side. The hum of the engine veiled the city around them, while Wade's musk interacted with the smell of a thousand other people who'd sat here before them. He just wanted to lay there for a while, head tucked against Wade's chest, warm in his arms.

Wade flexed the arm around him and stroked his side, drawing a hum and a smile from Peter.

"There's my sleeping prince," Wade whisper, his breath tickling Peter's hair, "Welcome back."

Peter yawned and sat up, looking around. The streets sailed on by to either side of the car. Short buildings crammed against each other and kids played in the streets. "Where are we?"

"My neighborhood," Wade answered, covering Peter's hand with his.

"What are you talking about," he frowned and looked at Wade, "This isn't near your loft."

Beneath his mask, he could see Wade's tentative smile, "We're not going back to the loft."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Not really," he squeezed Peter's hand, "I just don't want to take you back there anymore." Peter's expression must have shown his confusion because Wade heaved a sigh and turned toward him. "Babe, that place is where I take hookers to give them above-par working conditions and show my appreciation for what they do."

Peter frowned, not certain how to take that. "I could've sworn I told you I wasn't a whore."

"You did," Wade nodded, "and you're not. At the time, I had no reason to consider that your visit might turn into something more than a one-night, fuck-and-run. I haven't had a serious lover since the divorce, and I hadn't planned on there being another one again, potentially ever."

Peter pressed his hand to Wade's mouth, "That's the second time you've said something like that to me, and I don't like it. You're one of the most amazing people I've ever met, with more to offer the world than you know what to do with. You're kind, funny, smart, a smoking hot lover, and probably the most compassionate person I know. You've put up with more shit from me and my corner of hell than anyone else ever would, and you're still here. I'm fucking lucky to have you and anyone else who thinks less of you because of something as stupid as your skin isn't worthy to walk the ground you tread. Okay?"

He felt Wade's tremulous breath against his fingers and withdrew. "Okay."

"Thank you!" Dopinder proclaimed from the front seat, "I apologize, my friend, I'm not trying to listen in, but thank you. I've been trying to tell this lack-wit that for years, and he refuses to listen. After all that talk of Miss Mama June and love, and then one day he climbs into my cab, bemoaning about how he will 'never love again.' I wanted to strangle you, Mr. Pool."

"You should have," Wade answered, "That would've been fun."

"My friend," Dopinder caught Peter's eye through the rear-view mirror, "I don't know what you've got on our mutual friend here, but please, whatever it is, do not let it go. Many a long night has passed for my family in comfort and safety because of Mr. Pool's generosity. I would love nothing more than to see that blessing repaid to him."

Peter smiled and nodded, "It's a promise."

Wade cleared his throat, "Speaking of, Dopinder, how's the family? Does Gita still make her Grand Mama's curry?"

"My wife and children are doing well, thank you, Mr. Pool. As it happens, I am happy to announce we are expecting our first grandchild in the coming month or two."

"My man! Congratulations!"

Peter exhaled and held onto the smile while Wade clapped the driver's shoulder. "Congratulations," he managed to get out before breath escaped him completely. The two of them carried on and he quietly withdrew to the far side of the bench, where he could stare out the window and not tarnish Dopinder's announcement with how he couldn't breathe.

"Peter?"

He managed to close his eyes and signal Wade with a small shake of his head. 'Don't bring it up. Please, just ignore me. Keep carrying on.'

He could feel his lungs begin to burn, tried to suppress the convulsion of his chest that sought to suck in air.

"Peter, look at me." He heard Wade's voice from a distance and through a haze that he couldn't quite penetrate. Wade grabbed his stomach and pressed up, forcing him to gasp and breathe while he turned Peter's face to his. For a long moment, Peter's gaze flicked back and forth between the white eyes of Deadpool's mask, before he got ahold of himself and ducked his head.

"I'm okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the moving car, "I'm okay." Wade didn't answer, but pulled Peter into his arms and made idle conversation with his friend about what weird customer's he's come across lately. The sound of Wade's voice in his ears and against his cheek soothed him. He drifted in it until he felt the vehicle pull to a stop.

"We're here," Wade gave him a firm squeeze and a pat on the back before they began to extract themselves from the car. Dopinder popped the trunk as Peter came around and blinked at his backpack and clothes inside. Had he slept through the entire trip back to the loft?

He grabbed his stuff and slung his bag over his shoulder while Wade bent over the cab driver's window, his hand gesturing over the top of the car.

Looking around, it was a nice enough street. Wasn't the best part of town by any stretch, but it didn't look like Wade was slumming it either. They'd pulled up next to a tall apartment building. Wide, gleaming windows reflected the evening light onto little, window-garden balconies. The soil plots on either side of the door were green and well maintained, with two shrubs spiraling up on either side of the stairs.

"It was nice meeting you," Dopinder called as Deadpool closed the trunk. Peter raised his hand as he turned on the engine and drove off.

"I like him."

Wade nodded, "He's good people." He stopped on the curb next to Peter and hooked his finger under his chin, staring into his eyes.

"Please don't," Peter whispered, trying to avert his eyes, "I'm fine."

"You're lying," Wade answered, then bent down for a sweet kiss, "But okay." Peter shuddered and nodded, following his lover up the steps. He entered the code by the door and turned the key, before leading Peter inside. They climbed several flights of stairs and went down a hallway until they came to door number sixty-nine.

"Here we are, Babe," he turned the key in the lock, "Home sweet home." Holding the door open, he let Peter inside.

The deja-vu didn't escape him. He could feel Wade watching him as he crossed the threshold and entered his lover's most private space.

The first thing to catch his eye was the modest Christmas tree by the curtained window, with lidded gift-boxes underneath and cheap toy ornaments on the branches.

Posters, records, and drawings plastered the walls, overlapping each other so that hardly any wall space shone through. Where there was a flat surface, there was a nick-nack, a model, or piece of swag. Two display cases on either side of the large, wall-mounted television proudly illuminated rare sculptures side-by-side with collectible superhero statuary.

Beneath the TV, every game console known to man lined up on the top shelf, and a few that might be unknown. What the fuck was an Atari? The shelves below overflowed with game disks, cartridges, and controllers.

There was so much to look at, everywhere, that Peter couldn't take it all in.

The large room opened up at the far corner into an equally decorative and multifunctional kitchen, with a dining table/office dividing the two areas.

Cozy, mismatched furniture took up much of the remaining space. All of them showed love and wear, and most were buried under knitted blankets or embroidered pillows.

"Babe?" Wade came up behind him and clasped his shoulders. Peter finally had to cover his eyes and wait for the headache to ease off. "What is it? A migraine?"

"I don't know," he mumbled, "Maybe."

He sensed Wade's arms encircle him and let his lover pull his hand from his eyes before covering them himself. With gentle pressure, he pulled Peter's head back until it was resting against his shoulder, and reached around his chest to grasp his arm.

At first, Peter tensed and his breath caught. He felt so vulnerable with his vision covered, arms half pinned, stomach and throat completely exposed. He shifted against Wade's chest, hands reaching to grab his lover's arm. Then he felt Wade shush soothingly against his ear, over and over. As the minutes passed, he felt the tension melt away and with it, the pressure in his head until there was just the two of them.

"Better?" Peter swallowed and nodded. "Good," Wade's breath tickled his throat, "Then I think it's pill time, and then we get something to eat."

"Okay." He gave Peter an extra squeeze and then released him to fetch some water, bag of medicine thrown over his shoulder.

Peter let the couch cushions enfold him while he waited, and groaned as they supported all the right places. Head back, he stared up at the ceiling and shelves over his head and wondered when he last felt something this nice.

Wade's apartment surprised him. He'd expected a barely used bachelor pad, maybe an old pile of pizza boxes. Something maybe nicer than the hole he'd been living it, but the same general concept, but this… He could feel Wade's presence everywhere here, in every nook and cranny, even in the depth of the cushions at his back.

As he looked upside-down at the posters and records on the wall, he realized he knew nothing about who Wade was. The man had stood in awe of how intimately he knew Spiderman, but the most he knew about the man in the kitchen was a vague notion that he liked Mexican takeout.

"They look better when viewed right-way-up." Peter lifted his head as Wade knelt on the cushion beside him, pills in one hand, and an Ironman glass in the other. He tipped the capsules into Peter's mouth and watched as he emptied the cup. "Now remind me," he set the cup on the floor and slouched against the cushions, head propped on his hand, "Which dose was the good dose again?"

Peter snorted and smiled, "That one." Rolling over, he straddled Wade's lap, loving the feel of his lover's hands running along the inside of his waistband. When he started to take off the mask, Wade pulled back. "What's wrong?"

Wade hooked his thumb under the mask and lifted it up to his nose, smiling, "Nothing at all. Stick around a little while and I think you'll understand." He pulled Peter in for a leisurely kiss, his gloved hands sliding up and down his back until he forgot all about it.

Distantly, he began to hear the sounds of people in the apartments around them: a creak here, footsteps there. Somewhere, someone was playing music and beneath that, he could just make out a baby cry. Children ran up and down the hallway, laughing and shouting at each other when they suddenly stopped. Through the door, Peter could hear them whispering.

Wade hummed and grinned up at him before rolling Peter off his lap and putting his mask back in place. A moment later, there was a tentative knock on the door, followed by more whispering.

"I'm telling you, I saw him," Peter made out from the cluster of voices as he watched Wade crouch by the door and slowly turn the knob.

"Boo!" he spooked as he jerked the door open, to the screams of delight followed by cries of 'Mr. Wilson. You're back!'

Peter pulled his feet up on the couch and watched his lover open the door and embrace the screaming cluster of children who rushed him. He laughed as they bombarded him with questions and poked at his costume. The oldest child criticized it, saying she preferred the one with the ammo straps. Another one reached toward his gun belt, and even though Wade had removed the guns, he still lightly smacked the kid's hand with a dire warning not to touch.

"All right, that's enough you lot," a woman's weary voice chastised the mob from the hallway, "Let's leave Mr. Wilson be."

"But he just got back," one of the children pouted, "and we haven't seen him in ages."

Wade rose to his feet and stood on the threshold, blocking the door as the children fell back into the hall.

"Half a week is not ages, Jimmy," the woman continued, "The point is he just got back. He's had a long trip and he's tired and you kids haven't even given him a chance to get dressed yet. But now you've seen him and said hello, so off with you. It's dinner time. And don't think I won't call your mothers to make sure you do go back."

"All right, Miss Mary. Bye, Deadpool."

"Bye bye," Wade waved and then flounced against the doorframe, "Thanks, Hun. I appreciate it. I swear, the lot of them are like little piranhas. They can smell me whenever I get near the building."

"I'd say it was your own fault, Mr. Wilson, for encouraging them, but they do love you so. How was your trip? I hope everything went well."

"It's been…" Wade let the word draw out before he settled on, "Interesting. But about that, can you do me a solid favor?" he leaned in conspiratorially. Peter tried not to listen, embarrassed, but he had no problem picking up their conversation. "I wonder if you could run some interference for me. You see, I've got a houseguest who I expect will be staying, at least for a while. I don't know that it'll be a good idea to have the kids knocking down my door for the time being, at least until things even out."

"I can do that. I've got to call their mothers now anyway. Are things… good? I mean, you never bring strangers here."

Peter bristled.

"It's good. I promise. Thank you, Mary." He lingered at the door until Peter heard a click from further down the hall, then he came back inside.

"What was that about?" Peter asked as Wade flopped back on the couch again.

"Oh, don't worry about them. The piranhas are harmless. They just get a little carried away sometimes."

He opened his arms, but Peter just hooked his arm around his knee, "The kids were odd, but I'm talking about the girl. What does she care if you have people over? Who is she?"

"Baby boy, are you jealous?" he hiked up higher on the cushions and sat up, "I promise, my eyes are only on you."

"That doesn't answer the question."

Wade sighed, "She's just some poor soul trying to patch her life back together, like most everyone else in this place, including yours truly."

"So you've never fucked her? Then why does she care if you have guests?"

Wade's voice dropped half an octave, not enough to sound dangerous, but enough to convey his warning, "I swear I've never had sex with her. She cares because she, like everyone else here, has an idea of what I do for a living. Thus, they have certain expectations about the kind of people I associate with. She was asking if she and the other tenants should be concerned about you. I told her you're good people. Okay?"

Peter felt the blush crawl up his cheeks and let go of his knee, looking away, "Okay. I'm sorry." He frowned, "If they know what you do, why are kids hanging off of you?"

He heard Wade's amused snort and looked back at him, "Because, my handsome baby boy, while I may not be a superhero, I do like to keep my back yard clean. I've lived in this building for four years, and in that time the crime rates - both inside the building and around it - have dropped down to zilch," he held up a goose egg between his thumb and forefinger. "Those kids are safe to race around the property to their heart's content. They know it and they know why. Every thug and scumbag in the area know that if one of these tenants gets so much as a black eye, they're gonna pray someone like Spiderman comes along to rescue them."

Peter blinked at him and realized he was in awe. Looking at Deadpool lounging in full costume, being in his space, it felt like he was meeting the man for the first time. Slowly, he climbed to his knees, settled on Wade's lap, and rollup up his mask again.

SSS-

"Baby boy, the fear you're talking about is a conditioned reflex. With most anyone else, I'd agree with you. If you were… If you weren't enhanced, we wouldn't be having this conversation, but you are."

Chapter Text

"My hand over your eyes," Wade kissed Peter's naked shoulder and hooked his leg over his little spoon's side, "Good, or bad?"

Peter hummed, still flush with the afterglow of the bed christening, "Good, I think. A little frightening, but good."

Wade pursed his lips and kissed Peter's neck, "How frightening? Give me a scale."

"Um," he leaned his head to open the side of his neck, "3 of 10."

He followed the line of Peter's jugular up to his jaw, where he danced his tongue over the pulse point, "Blindfolds would more frightening. A hood would be worse."

"A hood?"

Wade smiled, "A hero mask without eyes. Possibly, no mouth either. It depends."

Peter shuddered and his breath picked up.

"Would you like that, Pete? Would you like to try a hood for me?" Peter whimpered and Wade laid his hand across his eyes. He pressed back into Wade's chest and, almost at once, his breath rate jumped and he began to squirm before he pulled Wade's hand away, gasping.

"That's a no on the hood," he nuzzled Peter's ear.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he lifted up onto his elbow and turned Peter's face to look at him, "I've had years to learn where my limits are, where they can be pushed and where they break. I don't want to do anything that could send you into a panic attack."

Peter pushed back up against the headboard and hooked his arms under his knees, "I know people enjoy fear. You do. But for me…" He looked away.

Wade trailed his fingers up and down Peter's arm, "Question?" Peter looked at him. "What makes you say that I like fear?"

He blinked at him and then started to look alarmed, "When I strung you up… with the knife, you mean you didn't…"

"That, my little sadist," he grasped Peter's arm, "was fucking hot, and I will happily let you do that again anytime you want. That night, though, there were many factors at play, not the least of which being your meticulous concern for me and my limits. It didn't hurt, either, that I could've gotten out of that bind anytime I wanted. Babe, the fear factor at that moment was so low as to be negligible. Just delicious anticipation."

Peter sighed in relief and nodded. Wade pulled him back down to rest against his chest.

"I don't want you to be afraid of me, Baby Boy, not now or ever. You're welcome to be alarmed if the situation calls for it. I know there've been a few times, but never afraid." He kissed the boy's head, "The fact that my hand on your eyes spikes your fear to a three bothers me. I hope it isn't me you're actually afraid of."

Peter leaned against his shoulder, "I was, but not anymore. That first night, I didn't know if you'd fuck me or shoot me." Wade ground his teeth and stroked Peter's back while he listened. "When you pulled the gun, I thought I was about to die. Then, when that last bullet hit the floor… I can't explain what happened. It was like the daddy games. Just suddenly, it went from 'oh dear god I'm about to die' to, like, 'there's a magic bullet in that gun that could still get me.'"

Wade huffed out a chuckle and kissed him, "It stopped being serious and became a game." He nuzzled Peter's hair, "I did notice you were quick to disarm me."

"You could have pulled another weapon," Peter answered softly, "I didn't think you would, but you could have."

"And you weren't afraid of me after that? Same night. Not the rest."

He sensed Peter's frown against his chest, "No, I still was. Even disarmed, if you'd wanted to, you could have killed me."

Wade closed his eyes and breathed, "So you bound my arms behind my back. You were still disarming me."

"Wade, I'm sorry, I-."

He yanked Peter's head back by his hair and kissed him, hard at first and then gentle and yielding as he released him. "Don't ever apologize for looking after your own safety. Ever. Do you understand me?"

He stared at Wade a moment before he swallowed and nodded, "Yes." Wade gave him another lingering kiss before he sat up and rolled his legs over the side of the bed.

Peter grabbed his arm, "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere, Baby. I just…" he pressed his hand down on Peter's and squeezed, "I'm not mad at you. I swear I'm not. You haven't done anything wrong."

The mattress shifted and he felt Peter lean into him, arms around his shoulders. "But I haven't done something right?"

He took Peter's arms in hand and trailed kisses all along one arm and down the other before he looked at him. "Baby boy, the fear you're talking about is a conditioned reflex. With most anyone else, I'd agree with you. If you were… If you weren't enhanced, we wouldn't be having this conversation, but you are."

Peter wilted back onto his heels, "We've already had this conversation, Wade."

"I know, but..." He pushed off the bed and started pacing. On the apex of the third pass, he rounded on Peter, "That first night, at what point did you feel safe with me? Did you ever feel safe with me?"

He could see Peter's nostrils flair in the low light, but then he poked his tongue into his cheek and averted his eyes as he does when he's puzzling through a problem. "When you said our safe word," he concluded finally.

"I surrender? You didn't feel safe until after I'd given all power to you?"

He could see Peter trying not to squirm under his eye, watched him start to open his mouth to apologize and then stop. Finally, he set his jaw and squared his shoulders, "You asked, and I told you. What do you want me to say?"

Wade sighed. That was a good question.

I'll give you a good question. How do we know he feels safe with us now?

Moving slowly, he sat on the corner of the bed, slid his fingers under Peter's hand, and held his eyes, "I have to ask now. Was it the same the second night, when you strung me up?"

"No," Peter shook his head and grasped his hand, "No. That night, when I made you say it… It was part of the game. That and I needed to make sure you remembered and could still say it."

Wade smiled, and felt a knot of tension release, "Looking out for me." Peter's smile answered him and he scooted closer, "When was it, then? When did you feel safe with me that night?"

Peter hardly stopped to think about it, "When you filled the footlocker. When you asked to keep your suit."

The breath emptied from his lungs as he closed his eyes and nodded, "When I showed you I was vulnerable."

Peter squeezed his hand, "Yes. Is that bad?"

"No," he shook his head and clasped Peter's hand in both of his, and looked into his eyes, "If anything, it shows I earned a lot of trust that first night."

"I wouldn't have come back if you hadn't."

Wade nodded, "I believe you. Pete," he lifted their hands and leaned forward, "I want to show you something, but you have to trust me. Enough to do what I tell you, and not ask why."

Peter opened his mouth, his eyes growing wide before his expression pinched. Wade could have kicked himself.

"We're not there yet, are we, Baby?" He cupped Peter's cheek and let him turn into his hand, grasping his wrist and marking him like a cat. "I'm sorry. We'll get there. I promise you, we will."

Peter pressed Wade's hand against his face for a long moment and then nodded. "What did you want to show me?"

Wade pursed his lips and averted his eyes, "I'm not sure how to explain it without showing you."

His gaze fell on his arm. He held it up, turning it over in the light before he smiled and rolled his eyes to look at Peter. With a playful eyebrow waggle, he brought his shoulder around and flexed his arm, making the heavy muscles pop. "Does this intimidate you?"

Peter spluttered a laugh and gave a look that said in no uncertain measure how weird he was, "It's hot."

Still grinning, Wade turned his wrist up and flexed the whole arm, "Is that a no, Baby Boy?"

He swallowed, "A little. It does, yes."

Wade nodded, then gently took Peter's hand and placed it on his forearm. He could see the wheels whirling in Spider's head, trying to figure out what he was doing. When he caught his boy's gaze, he held it, "Squeeze it for me, Babe." Peter did, palpating the muscle.

"Harder, Peter," he encouraged, "Harder. Harder." When Peter glanced down, Wade caught his chin and forced Peter to look him in the eye, "I said harder, brat. Squeeze as hard as you can. Do it. Do it now!"

They both caught their breath at the same instant when Wade's bones gave way beneath Peter's hand. Peter's eyes went wide with horror and he tried to throw himself back when Wade grabbed the back of his neck and held him there.

"It's okay, Peter. It's okay. Look at me," he shook the boy when he tried to look down and pulled him closer. "Listen to me," he kept his voice level and calm, "You did well. You did exactly as I told you. I'm proud of you."

"But… Wade, I-." He tried to glance down again and Wade hooked his thumb under his jaw.

"I said it's okay. Just stay right here with me. Can you do that, Baby Boy?"

His breath trembled over his lips and the expression of shock and horror began to lessen, just a little.

Wade felt the regeneration already building toward setting the bones. He stroked his thumb gently along Peter's jaw. "You could have squeezed harder, couldn't you?"

Peter shuddered. "Yes," he whispered.

"You could have squeezed a lot harder, couldn't you?"

"Yes."

Wade cupped his boy's cheek and smiled before looking down at his arm. As they watched, all the muscles in the arm contracted at once, pulling the limb back into shape. From there, he felt the tissue enter a state similar to rigor mortis, where it created a temporary cast while the bone healed. In less than a minute, he could flex his fingers again.

"There," he held up the arm and demonstrated the full range of motion, "Good as new."

Peter stared at the arm, his mouth working soundlessly before the dam finally broke. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he screamed, "Are you fucking crazy? Why would you do that? What was the point? Do you think I want to hurt you, you bastard?" He slammed his fists into Wade's chest with his outburst and tears streaked his cheeks. Wade caught him on his second lung and held him tight with both arms while he screamed profanities into his chest.

"You bastard," his voice broke at last and he looked up at him, "Why? Tell me why!"

Wade pinched his face apologetically and allowed Peter to lean back. He held up the healed arm between them, "Does it still intimidate you?"

"What are you talking about? Of course it… it…" he trailed off as he looked at Wade's arm. Except for his scarred skin, the arm was the spitting image of raw, brute strength. He watched as Peter gently cradled the limb in his hands and wilted back onto his heels. When he finally looked up at Wade, his eyes were wide, lost, and seeing as if for the first time.

He reached out and wept a little when Peter didn't pull away from him. Brushing a stray tear away with his thumb, he offered a sorrowful smile and said, "That's why."

SSSS-

Hand on Wade's head, Peter pulled back enough to murmur between kisses, "Wade… wait… I have an idea." Leaning in for one more kiss, he released the cling and placed a finger on his lover's lips, "Wait here."

Chapter Text

"You're still a mother fucking bastard," Peter flipped the dining chair around and straddled it, "And don't even think of trying anything. I'm still pissed at you." He tore the towel from around his shoulders and started scrubbing his wet hair.

"I hadn't noticed, Sugar Tits," Wade answered from the kitchen, "but that's just fine. If that's the price of your ability to fight back, I'll take it."

Peter growled under his breath and slapped the towel against his leg, "Why is it that important to you? You're the bodyguard, aren't you?"

He looked up when the spatula jumped off the counter and landed on the floor. Wade braced against the stove, jaw set, staring resolutely at the wall in front of him. Feeling suddenly ashamed, Peter looked away, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." A moment later, he heard water in the sink and glanced up as Wade began washing the utensil.

Wade served the food in silence and took the chair across from Peter. With a meal in his stomach and resignation of the meds to come bearing down on him, Peter's anger began to splutter.

"How did you know?" he propped his chin in his hand and looked at Wade, who met his eye, "That I could do that, I mean."

Wade sighed and set down his fork, "I didn't. All I knew was that you were endowed with superior strength. That was apparent from the beginning. I didn't know how superior until tonight. If what you said was true, and you were still holding back…" He pursed his lips and shook his head, "There are only so many people in the world with strength like that. Add in everything else you can do, and I'm amazed you're not already wearing a uniform."

Peter pursed his lips and lowered his gaze to his plate, pushing the bits of egg around with his fork. "You really want me to fight?"

"No, I don't. Those of us who wear the masks, what we do is dangerous. Deadly, even. I don't want you anywhere near it. What I do want is for you to be able to fight, because no matter how hard I try, I can't guarantee I'll always be there. If we get separated, if I'm overwhelmed and can't reach you, if any of a thousand variables goes wrong, I need you to be willing and able to fight.

"That's why I pushed you tonight," he continued, "You're conditioned to fear and back down from any show of force without even trying to resist. You feel like you have to have all the cards before you sit down to play, and that's just not how it works. I wanted to show you that you do have a fighting chance, even against me."

He deflated before Peter's eyes and looked away. "I almost wish Spiderman wasn't always there to rescue you when you two were young. If you'd been forced to fight, you might have discovered yourself long before now. The two of you should have burst onto the hero scene together as brothers in arms. The Spider Twins. Whatever. But he was always there, and so you never got the kick in the ass you needed to step out of his shadow and come into your own."

"I don't like violence."

"Baby, I don't think…" he bit his tongue and bowed his head, "I think that's the conditioning talking. You said yourself you've never been in a real fight. How could you possibly know if-."

Peter set down his arm when Wade slouched in his seat and stared at the table. "If what?"

"Nothing. Forget it." He looked away a moment. "Anyway," he hopped to his feet and began clearing the table, "I was thinking. We don't have a handy suspension setup here yet – I'll work on that tomorrow – so I thought we could try a little bed bondage and see where it goes."

Peter caught his arm when he reached for his plate, standing to lean into his line of sight. Wade stopped talking and refused to look at him. Peter could feel his lover's pulse pounding beneath his hand.

Wade tugged at the arm, "Let me go, Pete."

"No," he answered and clung.

Wade let out a shuddering breath as they began to sync. The strength of Wade's fear was matched only by its volatility, and Peter could tell he was fighting hard to keep it under control. Slowly, his lover looked up at him, as he began to sense Peter's own tenuous control over his anxiety.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Peter gripped him harder.

Wade tried to turn away, "I pushed too far. I wasn't thinking." Wade's fear contracted and tears began to gather in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, Baby. Not like that."

Free hand behind his neck, Peter pulled him in for a kiss. What started as tense pressure, became desperate and all-consuming as their fears bled together and Wade pulled Peter up onto the table.

Hand on Wade's head, Peter pulled back enough to murmur between kisses, "Wade… wait… I have an idea." Leaning in for one more kiss, he released the cling and placed a finger on his lover's lips, "Wait here." Maintaining eye contact, he slid off the table and gave his hand one extra squeeze before fetching back his backpack.

Wade quickly moved the plates out of the way when he climbed back up to kneel on the kitchen table. "What are you doing, Babe?" He tried for levity, but Peter could still see the anxious uncertainty in his eyes.

Breathing, Peter pulled a neatly folded bundle of silk from the bag and let it fall open between them. Meeting Wade's gaze, he answered the wide-eyed confusion he saw there with a measured exhale and a smile. Then he placed the silk in his lover's hands.

"Pete?" Wade gave a shallow shake of the head, "Why?"

Peter kissed him with gentle lips, his dancing tongue sliding over Wade's while he lifted his lover's hands, parting them until there was a length of silk between them. "I trust you."

He bent over then and pressed his eyes down into the sling of the silk line. He heard Wade suck in his breath while his hands came together behind his head. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not afraid," he answered, his voice little more than a passing breeze.

He jumped, just a little when Wade tightened the blindfold around his head, "Colors."

"Red stops," he licked his lips, "Yellow slows. Green goes."

For a moment, nothing happened, and then Wade cupped his hand under his jaw. Applying mild pressure to his throat, he lifted Peter's head until he felt Wade's hot breath against his cheek. "Remind me, Pet," he growled, so close his lips brushed his ear, "What's our safe word?"

A shiver spiraled down his back from his skull and a whimper slipped his lips. "I…" His heart jumped into his throat and sweat slicked his hands where they gripped the table.

"It's not so easy on the other side of the blindfold, is it, Pet?" Wade whispered, lips sending a cascade of sparks down his neck where they brushed his ear, "But we're still playing by your rules. If you can't prove to me you can say it, then I'll end this now."

He didn't recognize the sound that came out of his mouth. Wade pressed against his throat. "I…" He flashed back to another time when he was bent over like this, and another voice demanded those words.

This wasn't that time. That wasn't harsh burlap against his face. It wasn't a cruel hand on his neck. He smelled omelets and toast instead of chemicals and fecal matter. His fingers dug into smooth, forgiving wood instead of gritty, tire-streaked cement.

This wasn't a gambit for his love's life. This was a celebration of the love he had.

He let his weight drag him down against the silk and the hand that cradled his neck, "I surrender."

The tremor in the wind against his cheek felt like butterfly wings.

Wade's hand guided him back down until he dangled his head over the side of the table. The long silk lines shifted and swept across his back as Wade designed his knot. Then, with his arm across Peter's chest, he lifted him to kneel upright and moved around behind.

When his love positioned Peter's arms against the small of his back, he didn't resist. When he felt the silk wrap around his clasped forearms, he swore he could almost fly. When it was done, Peter had no forward mobility in his neck, his head propped up by the ties on his arms.

"Scoot back for me, Pet," Wade grasped his hips and guided him until his feet slipped off the table. Then his large hand grasped Peter's neck and pushed him forward, down until his cheek pressed against the warm table. The flush in his cheeks burned him. He couldn't quite catch his breath. His ass hung in the air with only the dangling silk to cover him.

For a long minute, a small eternity, nothing happened. He couldn't hear anything, couldn't sense where Wade might be. Then dry heat and pressure wrapped around his dick from beneath, bunched up with a handful of silk. Peter jumped then moaned as the cool fabric rubbed against the ridge under his penis, teasing the glans before retreating again.

"I wish you could see yourself, Pet," Wade murmured, pulling on the silk tails that trailed down his back, "You blush so pretty for me, just like a girl. Every time you whimper, you weep." Peter gasped when silk swept across his glans and cried when the touch went away. "You've left yourself defenseless against me, and I intend to take full advantage of it."

Peter turned his cheek into the table, seeking cool relief from the heat when he felt Wade pull on the silk. The fabric brushed against his cheeks and thighs, again and again, until it tightened on his arms.

When his lover's hands returned to his shaft, they brought soft silk cords with them. Wade wrapped them around the base of Peter's manhood, crossed over the front, and wrapped back around. The small whimper became a keen as he Wade wove the two tails around his length. At last, he tied them on his foreskin and let the remaining silk hems trail where they will.

"Now there's a package fit for a king," he cupped Peter's cheeks in his hands and kneaded the trembling muscle, "A pet of the highest quality, all mine." Peter jumped when a hand swept around his balls, and then Wade was pulling him back by the shoulders. The mercenary adjusted his position until he was sitting on his haunches, knees spread, tabletop all around him.

His breath was rushing in his ears. He tried to look down and the tension pulled on his arms. He tried to adjust his arms and it tugged on his cock. The silk pooling over his glans ticked and teased him. For a time he was lost in it, kneeling there, feeling the bindings and the vulnerable exposure. He couldn't protect his throat. Chest, stomach, everything was laid out.

What was Wade planning? What couldn't he plan, with the entire kitchen right there? He twitched and drew in his stomach when he sensed a draft. Nothing happened. What had Wade said? He liked to make people squirm too. He was watching Peter, just out of reach. He had to be.

God, what must he look like right now? He imagined doing this to Wade… to Deadpool. The red and black against the white spider silk. The way his mask puffed and pulled over his mouth while he panted. What would he have done if Spider bound him like this? Would he have whimpered, back on their first night, or would he have demanded more? Looking back, there was so much they could have done, all of it amplified with that touch of uncertainty in the unknown.

His next breath hissed as it passed through his teeth, the silk cords closing around his member, drawing a tight sound from his lips, "Wade."

A cold nub pressed into his nipple, eliciting a startled gasp, "You are a naughty thing, aren't you Pet." Peter shivered as Wade began to draw lazy circles around his areola with the toy. "You just can't wait for me to split you open, can you?" Peter couldn't stop the keen when Wade teased his glans, painting it with precum.

"Wade," he gasped, aborting a thrust, "Do you… do you still think of me? Like in costume."

His eyes rolled back in his head at the sound of Wade's amused, sultry tones, "Where did that come from, Pet?" The hard nub traced the lines of Peter's chest and began to spiral in around the other nipple.

"I was thinking… I wanna do this to you, Deadpool." He heard Wade suck in his breath and smiled, "I wanna string you up like this. I want to see how you squirm."

"You think you can make me squirm, Little Spider. You?" The nub disappeared, "When you're caught up in your own web?" The nub pressed into his slit, drawing a strangled cry as Peter went rigid, head back to give as much slack as possible.

His lover twisted the nub, and it felt like he was gathering all of Peter's insides like noodles around a fork. He whimpered and grit his teeth, fighting desperately not to move when that nub withdrew and pushed back in.

Over and over, Wade fucked his tiny hole with the implement until he couldn't bite back his voice anymore. "Oh god," he cried, "Wade, I can't stand it. Please, it's too much." He wanted to bow forward, but every time he ducked his head, it yanked on his dick. The cords were digging into him. He tried to struggle, flexing his arms, only to cry out when the silk cage tightened around him.

"I don't think I believe you, Pet," Wade answered, his voice frustratingly flippant, "How can I? You're keep getting harder for me, and you're weeping so much that you're lubricating it all by yourself."

Peter threw his head back and cried when the nub dipped deeper inside him. The entire world fell away and all that existed was that slick pressure stretching him again and again as it burrowed deeper. "I think I've found myself a greedy little pet," Wade wrapped his hand around Peter's hip, "I think you want this thing all to yourself."

"Wade," he couldn't throw his head back any farther. It didn't help. The cords were so tight.

"I think you want to take it all, to hold it inside and never let it go." Peter sobbed, feeling his loins twitch against the object. "You must be so blessed, Pet, to have a master as generous as I. I'm willing to let you have it, but I'll want you to take something of mine in return."

Peter's throat constricted and he voiced a wordless keen. The object pressed inside, deeper and deeper, splitting him open all along his length until he felt the pad of Wade's thumb against him.

"Such a good puppy," Wade's husky voice tickled shivers across his skin, "Pet likes his toys, doesn't he?"

Peter sobbed when his love reached under him to fondle his balls, "Yes. I love my toys. I love my master. Please. Please…"

"How spoiled you are, thinking you deserve mercy. Mercy is earned, Pet."

He sucked in his breath and let out a little wail when he felt Wade's hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down to the table again. A moment later, those hands hooked around his hips and pulled him backward. Peter's feet dangled over the side, and then he felt cold slick dribble over his ass. The first finger almost caught him off guard, pushing past his muscle and bottoming out. He gasped and uttered meaningless pleas as Wade fucked him with the one, then two, then three before he suddenly withdrew.

Before he could finish his pleas for more, hard hands grabbed his knees and spread them out, dropping Peter onto his stomach on the table. Another tug backward and he felt the head of Wade's cock against him.

"Oh, gods, Wade. Please. I need you. I need you so much."

"Greedy little pet," Wade growled, "You asked for it, and now you're gonna take it all." With a grip on each ankle, he pressed Peter's heels against his ass and thrust inside, once, twice, and bottomed out on the third. Afterward, he set an unyielding pace, pounding into Peter while he wrecked on the table. With every thrust, the cords dug in and yanked his cock until it felt three time's its side, full to brimming with the object inside.

"Wade I can't. I can't. I… I'm coming."

"Not yet, you're not," he ordered, and Peter screamed when he reached his climax and nothing happened. He couldn't breathe. It was right there and he couldn't reach it, trapped behind the cords that yanked him back. "Oh god, please. Wade. Deadpool, please. I need it. I need it, please."

Wade slammed into him, pounding him into the table until it began to scoot across the floor. Releasing one ankle, he reached around and pulled the bullet and silks free. Peter's scream of release pushed him over the edge.

SSS-

The white voice cautioned him about the sticking his nose where it didn't belong. Yellow was grim and morbid in its fascination.

Chapter Text

Wade learned to set his watch by Peter's medicine, and the cycle of it dictated their days.

After three appointments with 'Dr. Richardson' in various pop-up offices, he learned Spiderman's activities had compromised their last hideout. The next day, he made a few calls and emptied out one of his warehouses where he received weapons shipments. Within days, Graveside had converted his allotted portion into a fully functional lab. Wade kept the rest of the space in reserve, just in case.

Graveside kept him appraised of Spiderman's actions, but the wall-crawler was never available for a conference call.

At home, he worked with Peter when he was well, testing his abilities within the limits of the apartment. He built his strength in the late morning so the micro-tears would heal in the evening. After dinner and the reinvigorating round of medication, they cleared the living room and he instructed Peter in unarmed combat.

They rested when Peter was not well, passing the time together on the sofa, deep in fast food, conversation, video games, and movies.

When Peter slept, either from drug-induction or black out, he worked. The mask came on, and the web was his hunting ground.

He studied 'Richardson's' research on Peter's condition, and found it a struggle to grasp more than the most fundamental concepts of his work.

Peter's scores labeled him a genius, but by the end of the first week he was convinced his boy had held back in those tests as well – a trait that was beginning to vex him. To go from a minimum wage photographer for the Daily Bugle Tabloid, to a self-taught cancer specialist in the process of revolutionizing treatment for the disease… It was beyond his ken.

Resigning to his intellectual ineptitude, he turned his focus on subjects he could more easily understand, and more importantly, do something about. What happened to Peter when MJ disappeared? With the boy's memory loss, he needed to reconstruct the timeline of events with outside material. Who did it? Why? When? What activity had there been since? What was Spiderman's involvement?

Graveside had been less helpful in this regard, but he couldn't decide if it was because the watcher was hiding something, or if he honestly didn't know.

Mary Jane Watson. Her obituary was easy enough to find. She died fifteen months ago, one snowy night in February. Cause of death, gunshot to the chest by an unknown assailant. The body of her infant child was never recovered.

The white voice cautioned him about the sticking his nose where it didn't belong. Yellow was grim and morbid in its fascination. He went to social media.

In his first round of research on Peter, he quickly discovered his boy held no accounts on such sites, and so disregarded them. His fiancé, on the other hand…

Her name cropped up like wildflowers. She was pretty, in a familiar sort of way. Pictures and selfies peppered her accounts amidst rants about social justice, weighing in on topics ranging from police brutality to mutant rights. Many posts were gleeful announcements of the next stage play, the next audition, the next role.

He pinpointed the happiest day of her life.

"What am I going to do?" she wrote, "I'm an actress, but at a loss for words. My agent called me this morning. I landed the leading role! The Big One! But the weird thing? That's not the best part of the day. What could possibly top that, you ask? You-know-who proposed. I'm getting married!"

The next post was a proud photoshoot of the ring. God, Pete. How many months' worth of wages did that rock cost you?

The selfies tapered off after that and were replaced with photos documenting her advancing career, moving boxes, an empty apartment, MJ unpacking, cooking, laughing. Short little videos began to slip into her feed. At first, they were just cute little clips, clumsy and uncertain. Over time, the camera became more confident, and so did she.

Wade found himself enchanted as she rehearsed her lines for Juliet, her belly swollen with life.

"I've heard it said," he jumped and slammed his computer closed, "Gravedigging is a hazardous occupation."

Peter stood in the bedroom door, looking washed out and thin.

"Baby, I… this isn't what it looks like. I was just…"

"I know," there was hardly enough force in Peter's breath to voice the words, "I'm not an idiot, Love. You're wearing the mask. I've never seen you use that box for recreation. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what you're doing." His shoulders braced as he stiffly crossed the room and straddled his chair.

"It's three o'clock in the morning, Honey Bottom," Wade told him gently, "Go back to bed. You need your sleep."

Peter folded his arms on the back of the chair and laid his head upon them, "Too late. I'm awake now, and I hurt. I can never get back to sleep when this happens."

Wade removed his mask, "Let's go to the couch then. I've been itching for a marathon."

"Can I…" Wade stopped when Peter hesitated and sat back down.

"What is it?"

Peter was silent for a long moment, his gaze cast down on the floor, "I know… it's not fair for me to ask you. I just… I can't do it myself. It hurts too much." He closed his eyes and tears glistened on his cheeks, "Will you let me listen? Please? It's been so long since I've heard her voice."

Wade's heart contracted. "Okay."

"What are we doing here, Deadpool?"

Wade stretched his arms over his head and cracked his neck as Dopinder drove off. "Retail therapy, Sweet Cheeks." He let his arms fall with a sigh and looked over his shoulder, "I mean, what else are we gonna do at a shopping center. Well, I guess we could eat, but that sounds good too. So come on." He flung his arm wide toward the plaza.

Peter stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, looking out over the crowd ahead of them.

Incredibly enough, the grubby, moth-eaten tee shirt was just about too small for him now and those homeless jeans were almost painted on. When he started having his boy workout while his mutations were suppressed, he hadn't expected his healing factor to respond with bulking him out. Well, as bulky as his build would allow, anyway. Still, he was packing some fine guns now.

"What do we need to go shopping for? You've already packed that place to the bursting point."

"Not so, my young padawan," Deadpool waggled a finger at him, "And even if it were, we'd still be taking this trip. I'm finally going to make good on my threats, and throw away those rags."

Peter scoffed, trying to look exasperated, but the corner of his lip quirked up, "I thought you forgot about that."

He put a hand on his chest, "I would never forget a promise to my ickle baby boy, much less a threat. I just didn't have reason to care while you lounged around the place in your-."

"Wade!"

He's blushing! That's so cute.

"What?" he flung up his arms, "You might as well go around like that here while you're at it. Those scraps aren't doing anything to protect your prudish dignity."

"I am not a prude," he snapped while blushing brighter and hugging his arms to his chest.

"And I'm not the Pink Ranger. That doesn't mean it's not fun to pretend. I'll even let you be my Green Ranger." Peter rolled his eyes, lips twitching again, "Anyway, my point. Don't even try to tell me you're not getting a kick out of this retiring virgin act of yours right now, because I know I am."

"I'ma kick your ass, Deadpool."

"Oh, now that sounds like fun. Should I present now," he thrust out his hip, "Or later?"

Peter huffed and shoved his hands back into his pockets as he stalked forward, blushing right up to the roots. "Let's get this over with. I don't like standing out."

Wade stopped him with an arm across his chest. "One," he leaned in toward the boy's ear, "I don't believe you. If that were true, you'd never even consider putting on that sinful costume. Two, all you're doing is making a scene, which is going to make people look longer."

"You're the one carrying on," he groused.

"Of course," he fell back and grinned, "I am announcing to the world that Deadpool has arrived for the entertainment. I'm here to buy things and make pretty boys blush. People are gonna look at me for all of ten seconds because society says it's impolite to stare. You on the other hand," he jabbed a finger at Peter, "are being reclusive, aloof, and secretive. People are going to watch you long after they grow bored with me. They sense you've got something to hide and, in their black little hearts, they're just dying to catch a whiff of what it is."

"I'm supposed to be in hiding," he muttered.

"For how long, Babe?" He stood in front of Peter, "Another month? A year? Are you planning to spend the rest of your life in that little apartment?" He squeezed that pert chin and lifted Peter's gaze to his, "Look this thing in the eye and know what it is. This is the same conditioned fear we've been working on. It's just taken on a different guise this time."

He sighed and braced on his knees, putting himself at Peter's level, "You're never going to have the full deck of cards, Pet. However, that doesn't mean you don't have a very potent hand at your disposal. I guarantee your hand is more powerful than anything any five of these people have put together. On the off chance that we do run into another enhanced, they still have to deal with me before they ever get to you. Of course, that's assuming they're not here for the same reason we are: to get out, enjoy some fresh air, and empty their wallets into pretty paper bags. Okay?"

Peter sighed and averted his eyes, "Okay."

"There you go," he clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder, "Now let's go make you feel beautiful."

He pulled Peter into every clothing store they came across, poking and teasing him with different outrageous styles and accessories until he finally relented and tried something comparatively conservative on. Of course, Wade was going to whistle when he came out to show the outfit, loving the way he blushed for him. After the first purchase, he made Peter go put some real clothes on, and then they moved along.

Gradually, his boy began to relax, and after a while began to strut his stuff down the cobblestones. One store had makeup samples available to try out, and he had a blast pinning Peter down and painting up his face to bring out his masculine features.

"Men were wearing paint long before women decided to usurp the practice," he told him.

"Is that your personal recollection there, Sweetheart." The brat had the gall to smirk at him before adeptly ducking out from under Wade's grasp.

"Come back here, Brat."

"Come catch me, if you can, Old Man."

Laughing, Peter led him on a merry chase through the plaza until he stopped, shoulders tense, eyes pinched, jaw locked. He jerked his hands up toward his head, but they were both loaded down with bags.

"Time for a rest, me thinks." Wade hooked his arms through the handles and began to knead the boy's temples and other pressure points along his skull. When the tension began to ease up, Peter nodded.

They found a lovely little café with a view of the fountain and settled in. His katanas clacked against the metal chair and prevented him from leaning back, but that was fine. He wasn't going to come fully loaded into a crowd of civvies like this, not for some good clean fun and old-fashioned shopping. Besides, if it came down to a fight, he suspected Peter would be cross with him if there were accidental casualties. The short range of his swords made them far more precise in their targets and besides, they could be easily passed off as cosplay. He'd even dressed them down a bit for just that reason, and no one had bothered him.

They ordered drinks and an appetizer. Peter opted to hold off on anything else until he saw how the food affected his stomach.

"Let's see," he pulled back his glove when their drinks arrived, "Hello Kitty tells me it's time for the good stuff."

"You brought the shit with you?" Peter asked, incredulous. Wade pulled a small pillbox from his belt.

"Of course. I never leave the house without making sure you're covered." He shook the container at Peter and smiled as his boy ducked his head and blushed.

"I do hope those are prescription." Wade frowned and glared up at the intruders, whose head honcho arched a manicured brow at him, "I'd hate to have to bust up a drug deal."

SSS-

Discretely, he pressed down around the new spider tracer, making the implant bulge under Peter's skin. "I see you got it replaced," he said softly, "I hope this means you reconciled with your friend."

Chapter Text

Peter felt a thrill run up his spine when he heard the voice and looked up as Tony Stark approached the table. The billionaire's shades caught the light of his arc reactor when he tucked them into the pocket of his silk shirt.

He wasn't alone. Steve Rogers stood beside him, hands in his pockets, loose jacket zipped to the neck. With them was a third person Peter didn't recognize. Whoever he was, his suit was clean, his face unshaven, and he carried the signature accessories of the blind.

Deadpool folded the pillbox into his hand and draped the arm over the back of his chair. "Well, would you look at what breezed in the door," he affected his best cowboy accent, "What's the matter, Stark. Your GPS Satellite getcha lost? I'll give you a hint. The road's over there. Go find it." He jerked his head toward the plaza exit.

"Nope. GPS works just fine, thanks," Tony hiked up the arm cradling his coat, and Peter saw the glint of red and gold. "I can appreciate your concern, though. Having to rely on third-rate drivers who barely know which side of the road to drive on, GPS must be your only prayer of getting where you're going."

"Gentlemen," Rogers raised his hands, "We didn't come here to fight. We have something to discuss."

"May we," Tony indicated the table.

"I'm indisposed. Call my secretary and make an appointment," Deadpool growled, but Tony had already pulled out a chair and Captain Rogers invited himself around the table.

Peter scooted to the side when the blind man used his cane to pull up a chair right next to him. The table was small, really only meant for four people. With barely a breath between them, he could feel the heat coming off Rogers' tree-trunk arms. Heart pounding, he pulled his elbows in and focused on the ice floating in his drink.

"What the fuck is this?" Wade propped his boot on his knee, "Can't a guy step out of town for a little routine assassination without the super husbands riding my ass. I mean, really, what's with the lawyer?" He flung his hand at the blind man. "Oh, did I do something to hurt a Tony's feewings? Are you gonna throw a widdle tantrum and sue me?"

Peter grit his teeth as the pressure built behind his eyes and the tinnitus set in. He wouldn't show any stress to the avengers though. Just focus on breathing and keeping a straight face. Be invisible. Let Wade deal with them. It's not as if they wanted anything to do with him.

"What do you think?" Rogers asked.

Peter looked up. The blind guy pursed his lips and rested his elbows on the table, hands clasped, "I've no doubt. It's him."

"Who's him?" Peter asked, his reporter instinct catching a finger hold, "What's going on?"

Across the table, Deadpool stopped talking when the blind man clasped Peter's left arm. Discretely, he pressed down around the new spider tracer, making the implant bulge under his skin. "I see you got it replaced," he said softly, "I hope this means you reconciled with your friend."

The pain spiked with the shock of recognition, "You."

Daredevil's lips pulled into a mirthless smile, "Me."

"Him," Deadpool snapped, drawing everyone's attention, "Tell me, D.D., what the fuck happened to client confidentiality? Do you nark on everyone who brings you something sensitive, or are we just lucky?"

Daredevil let go of Peter's arm, "I do not, and have not narked on anything disclosed in confidence. Our business that night is not what's on the table."

"Then what the hell is this about? I mean, I always knew you guys were ass-hats, but muscling in on our date is a whole new realm of low."

"Believe me, we're not enjoying this any more than you," Tony picked at a piece of lint on his shoulder, "Watching you two throw saccharine at each other has just about spoiled my taste for sugar."

"Tony," Rogers barked.

Peter's face burned.

"We're done," Wade announced and stood, grabbing the bags, "Come on, Babe. Let's blow this joint."

He nodded and started to rise when Captain America stood in Deadpool's path, "I apologize for Tony, Mr. Wilson, but you left us with no other options. Please, for your own safety I ask you and Mr. Parker," Peter caught his breath, "to come back with us to Avenger Tower. We can discuss the matter at hand there."

"Why the fuck should we go back to your ivory tower, America?" Wade pressed forward until they stood chest to chest, "If it's our safety you're concerned about, then don't. We've obviously done a pretty good job escaping your eagle's eye until now, or you wouldn't be harassing us." He turned to shoulder past Captain America when Rogers grabbed his arm.

"I must insist, Wilson. Please don't make this difficult."

"What's difficult about it, Stevie?" Deadpool narrowed his eyes, "You can't detain me, because you know I'll fight back. You're not going to fight me, because you're a bleeding heart and don't want any of these civvies to get hurt. Therefore, we're free to leave. Come on, Babe." Wade yanked his arm out of Rogers' grasp. He stopped half a step later and leaned toward Captain with a mock stage whisper, "Oh, maybe you've noticed, but your husband over there is just a bit sour. I suggest applying an extra dose of that serum strength of yours when you spank him tonight. That should turn his frown upside down for ya. Cheerio."

Peter let out his breath as smoothly as he could and started to rise when Daredevil laid a hand on his wrist. "You're not the only one," he said in low, confidential tones.

Peter froze.

"What did you say?" Deadpool demanded.

"You really are a moron, Wilson," Tony shot, "Do you have any idea what you're sitting on?"

The voices were getting farther away, the tinnitus mounting to drown them out. What did he mean, 'Peter wasn't the only one?'

"Gentlemen, this is not the place," Rogers placated, "Please-."

Peter couldn't hear anything else. Amidst the tinnitus and the pounding migraine, his mind latched onto that one suggestion.

There had been others. Oh god, how many others have suffered what he did?

His heart pounded. His breath came in sharp gasps. He flashed back to that night, to the hands that grabbed him, the manacles that shackled him, and the screams… Oh gods, the screams.

"Snap out of it."

The pain in his head blotted out the light of his eyes. The miasma of body fluids and waste gagged him. He felt the weight of it on his skin, dribbling down. The world narrowed to a point and blinked out. When it returned, he hung suspended by his wrists while needles burned his veins with venom. Cold iron clamped down on his neck. He couldn't turn away. She was screaming.

"Come back, Son," the harsh whisper cut the nightmare with a blade of light, "Come back to me. Daddy's here, Son. He's right here." The light pierced the darkness with each iteration, breaking down the vision. "Daddy's boy is never alone because daddy's always here. Wake up for me, Son. It's not real. It's just a dream. I swear it's just a dream."

Peter keened and leaned back into the hot grip on his neck.

"That's it," the voice continued, hot and moist against the side of his face, "There's Daddy's good son."

He shut his eyes on the vision and felt blood drip down his face, "Da-." A clothed hand closed over his mouth.

"Hush. That's Daddy's good boy. Don't speak. Just wake up for Daddy. Wake up for me, Son." Peter sobbed against the palm, pressed between his Daddy's hands. When he opened his eyes again, the world was bright and blurry. He saw a painting of a man holding up his hands, signaling two others to stay away.

"Good boy. You're such a good boy. Daddy's so proud." Daddy's pressed right up against his head, his lips moving in the cradle of his ear. His voice was so soft, so quiet, yet it was a roar. "My boy. My precious son. Stay right here with me. Daddy promises, he'll keep you safe. He loves you."

Peter sobbed and bowed his head, pressing his face into Daddy's hand and feeling it yield and rock with him.

"So proud of you," Daddy whispered, "And now you're grounded."

Peter convulsed as the haze of the headspace gave way to the sickening pain and the throbbing pulse that tried to blot out the light. For an instant, he was pathetically grateful for Wade's hand forcing him to swallow back the sick. However, he couldn't hold it back for long. Pulling hard on his lover's arm, he tore his mouth free and managed a choked, "Let go."

As soon as the grasp on his neck eased, he pushed between Wade and America, between tables and gawkers, his hands clamped over his mouth in his blind dash for refuge. He found the toilet by the grace of god and threw himself upon it, projectile vomiting into the bowl with gut-wrenching, blinding force.

The first rumble escaped him, falling in time with a retching hurl. The second shook the stall doors and splashed sick water back into his face. He tried to push away, to climb to his feet, but the tinnitus and migraine spiked with the adrenalin and knocked him off his feet again. He couldn't see. He gasped for breath. His body convulsed. Vomit sprayed across the floor.

Then the wall came crashing down.

SSS-

"Let go," Peter choked and then shoved Wade aside in his urgent haste to reach the toilet. Wade barely took two steps to follow when the first one grabbed his arm. He thought it was Daredevil, and he wasn't having any of his shit.

Chapter Text

"You're not the only one."

Deadpool rounded on the source of those words, his rage defying the crushing weight of their meaning. "What did you say?"

"You really are a moron, Wilson," Tony's jab struck him in the chest, "Do you have any idea what you're sitting on?"

"What the hell does that mean, Stark?"

"Gentlemen," America thought he could actually stop Wade from strangling Stark with just a show of hands, "this is not the place. Please, come with us and we'll discuss everything. Right now, we're too exposed."

"Damn it. He's panicking," Daredevil alerted them. Wade turned and found the man trying to pull Peter's fists away from his face, "Come on, Parker, snap out of it."

"Let him go," Wade snarled. Dropping the bags, he shoved Murdock off Peter before leaning down to look into his face. His eyes were wide, black pits. His breath stuttered in shallow gasps.

'Damn it, he's already gone.'

What do we do? What do we do?

Headspace!

'Oh sweet Freya, please let this work.'

He gripped Peter's neck as hard as he dared. Aware of the eyes watching him, he pressed his mouth to Peter's ear to give the barest breath of secret voice to their most intimate relationship. "Come back, Son."

At first, nothing happened. He said the words; he put everything he could into them. It was all he could do to hold off the headspace himself.

When Peter let out that tight little sound and pressed back into his hand, Wade thought he'd be undone.

Little by little, his pushed back Peter's panic with the headspace he so loved and feared. When he started to rouse, he covered his boy's wonderful mouth before he could say something that would humiliate him later. "Hush. That's Daddy's good boy."

He sensed the heroes grow restless when Peter began to sob into his hand. America advanced when Peter convulsed, no doubt imagining Deadpool tormenting the man in the midst of his panic attack. To his surprise and eternal gratitude, Daredevil moved to intercept, placing himself between Wade and the Avengers.

He put them from his mind and continued to coax Peter from one headspace to the other. His focus was such that he didn't realize he'd slipped in as well until the confession was on his lips. Peter cried. Wade didn't have the strength to sustain it anymore. Not like this.

He grounded Peter. Like every time before, it flipped the switch. The next convulsion was violent, the vocalization against his hand a garbled sound lost to the wash of his illness. He thought Peter cracked bones when the boy pulled his arm away, but Wade barely cared enough to notice.

"Let go," Peter choked and then shoved Wade aside in his urgent haste to reach the toilet.

He barely took two steps to follow when the first one grabbed his arm. He thought it was Daredevil, and he wasn't having any of his shit. When he turned, he found a fat, bearded man yelling in his face, "You scumbag!" Then, with no further warning, Deadpool felt his nose and cheekbone break beneath the man's fist.

Reeling, he heard a woman shout, "Those monsters! Did you see what they did to that poor boy?"

"Get them!"

Then the mob was on them. Deadpool slammed back into the table, still half-blinded. The man got in another spleen-crushing blow before the next person reached him. Clawing, punching, biting, and kicking: they broke the table with his back and pressed in on him with their combined mass. He reached for his katana, but the mob tore them from his back. Someone screamed and impaled his skull on his own sword.

When he came two, the length of his sword divided his vision. Terrified shrieks bombarded his senses as lightening split the sky.

"To thine own homes at once!"

It's the fucking wrath of god!

Glorious!

Laughing, Deadpool ripped the sword out of his head and rolled as the fat redneck planted his fist in the cobblestones. The muscles in his face wrenched as he jumped to his feet, yanking his cheekbone back into place. Though he was still hallucinating cartoons amidst the human stamped, his vision cleared up nicely.

"You're mine, big boy," he flipped the sword as the red-faced larder rushed him.

"Wilson!" America shouted. Too little, too late. He caught the man's bulk with his sword and, with momentum, threw him over his head into the jumbled mass of overturned tables and chairs.

The cartoon's doodled out, and he got his first real look around. The mob was in disarray. Lightning bombarded rooftops and street lamps in a terrifying show of force, but none of the bolts touched flesh.

"Friday," Tony gasped where he lay while Captain threw the assailant off him. The two Avengers had seen better days. Stark was a pulped wreck and America's mouth dribbled blood. Both their outfits were torn. He could see Captain's uniform peeking through the rifts in the fabric.

Tony slapped his hand down on his red and gold grip. Immediately, the Ironman suit grabbed his arm and unfolded like a slinky, aligning with his body and cuddling him into its embrace.

Daredevil had split his cane into a pair of clubs and dropped the two men attacking him. "We've got more incoming," he shouted.

Indeed, while most of the mob trampled over each other in fear of the God of Thunder, several feral stragglers broke through the tide and rushed them.

"I see them," Ironman's boosters came online and he took to the air.

"Wilson!" Deadpool looked toward America and caught the earpiece thrown his way.

"This is your friendly neighborhood Deadpool, reporting in," he announced while cutting another assailant across the chest and pulling his mask over the earpiece.

"Situation report," America ordered.

Let's never tell Pete how hot that voice is when it's giving orders.

"You've got boogies coming out of the woodwork, Cap," Hawkeye reported.

No. Let's do tell him and see if it brings Spider out to play.

"Civilians," Ironman barked, "I repeat, these are civilian assailants. Twenty-one identities confirmed, and counting."

Wait. Where's Peter?

"They're not civilians," Daredevil shouted, "They read wrong. I don't know what they are."

Deadpool ignored the chatter and turned his back on the fight. Instead of running after Peter, though, he gaped as the redneck he'd impaled stood under his own power. "Zombies!" he shouted, "I'm calling Zombies." The redneck wiped the blood off his chin, spat the rest on the ground, and charged.

"These things are intelligent," Banner's voice felt like the picture of tranquility amidst the chaos, "but he's not far off. They're regenerating."

Deadpool pirouetted out of the larder's way and cut him from shoulder to kidney, severing his spine.

"Avengers, listen up," Captain's voice brooked no dissent, "Ironman. Vision. Give me a perimeter. Let's keep this inside the plaza."

Deadpool snatched up his second sword and ran into the restaurant.

"Falcon, clear the way for the non-coms. Get these people out of here."

A woman tried to jump Deadpool from behind the counter. He spun, and she hit the floor in three separate pieces.

"Thor," Cap's voice barked through the earpiece, "Light these things up. We'll take as many alive as we can."

"As you wish!"

With a thrusting kick, Deadpool busted the bathroom door down, and then screamed when he saw only a puddle of vomit smeared toward the rubble.

"What happened?" Ironman demanded.

Deadpool didn't answer, but ran to the hole in the wall and scanned for any sign of his lover.

"Wilson, report!"

"There's something else here," he sighted the splattering trail of bile, "They've got Parker."

"Damn it. Widow, Winter, move to assist. Banner, standby. Devil, you're with me."

"Now there's something I never thought I'd hear you say, Cap," Ironman joked.

"I know, right?" Deadpool fangirled while in pursuit.

"Friends, we have a problem." Deadpool winced as electricity fed back into the speaker. "These creatures refuse to lie down."

"Are you even trying to kill them?" Pool jumped parkour over obstacles and cut down anyone that got in his way.

"Captain, hate to say it but he might be right," Falcon weighed in, "Whatever happened to these people, they're not stopping."

There they were. Deadpool sighted the gang about the time Peter's trail dried up. A group of football player types in full body unitards hauled ass toward the perimeter with Peter slung over their shoulders.

"Fascinating," Vision's impassive voice murmured through the earpiece, "The corpses are dissolving."

"Confirmation," America grunted.

"Confirmed," Ironman answered.

"Orders, Captain?" Winter demanded.

Silence. "Banner, coordinate with SHIELD. See if we can detain someone. Avengers," he hesitated, and then his voice was grim, "Shoot to kill. I repeat. Shoot to kill."

Swords unsheathed, Deadpool descended on the linebackers. The man about to be cut down pivoted and held up his arm. The swords shattered against his forearm. "What the hell?" He looked up into the linebacker's covered face as the man hauled back and uttered the only thing he could. "Oh, Shit!" The man punched him, and he flew back through two brick walls and impaled on a rebar.

"Wade!"

Peter's calling us. Get up!

"Wilson! Report!"

'I can't move.'

It felt like every bone in his body was crushed. His chest collapsed under the blow. He couldn't breathe. The rebar skewered his heart and lung. As the world faded out, the last thing he saw was Peter's horrified face receding into the distance.

"Wade!"

SSSS-

"I can't guarantee I'll always be there. If we get separated, if I'm overwhelmed and can't reach you, if any of a thousand variables goes wrong, I need you to be willing and able to fight."

Chapter Text

"Wade!" Peter screamed as his lover hurled backward into the building.

He tried to break free, but the iron hand on his back held him in place over the brute's shoulder. It didn't feel like flesh beneath him, but like metal. His stomach gave another dry heave, and his eyes squinted against the painful glare. He pushed through it and beat on his captor's back. The song of his fist hitting metal was the only result. He tried again, struggling to reach the power that flowed through him in the evening hours, but it was out of reach.

The scream of Ironman's repulsor cut into his ears. The explosion threw his captors onto the ground. He rolled with the force of it and hit his head. The tinnitus drowned out all sound. Another explosion rocked the ground. His kidnappers stood up, ready to fight. Then a man with a red star on his metal arm leaped into the fray. He slammed his silver fist into the first assailant's face, tearing the fabric of the featureless mask to reveal chrome skin underneath.

A beam of light cut across another captor's chest, which glowed molten red before the fabric caught fire. "That's quite far enough." Peter barely heard the voice. With the world spinning, he rolled his head to look up at the red-skinned man descending from the sky.

There were four of them in total. Four enormous mammoths, each identical in size, shape, and even armor, if the clangs he heard through the ringing were any indication. Three of them were engaged. The fourth one, which had been carrying him, turned on Peter.

He backpedaled, caught in the grip of fear as the giant stood over him. An arrow shot him in the face and exploded in a flair of blinding light. Peter screamed. He knew he did. He could feel the vibration in his throat. Arm over his eyes, he floundered and tried to move away. The ground shook under the giant's stumble.

Someone grabbed him. Their small hand gripped tightly on his bicep, pulling him to his feet. When the glare began to recede, he saw a flash of long red hair whip out in front of him.

"MJ?"

"Come on, Parker. Move," the woman barked at him. The tinnitus receded as she hauled him into a headlong run. "We could use that backup right about now."

Behind them, the giant roared wordlessly before breaking into a thundering chase.

"Duck!" The woman lunged forward, throwing them to the ground as something, whipping and heavy, hurtled past. It hit the giant square in the chest and flung him back to grind into the cobblestones. Thor – Fucking Thor! – landed in front of them, red cape flowing at his back. He held out his hand and Mjolnir flew back into his fist.

"Get the boy to safety," his deep voice reverberated in Peter's chest, "I'll handle this."

"Come on," the woman urged him to his feet again. As he fumbled, he looked back past the other shoulder. Mid-turn, he found him. A fifth giant held Deadpool up in the air. His lover pounded helplessly at the massive hand around his neck.

"Wade!" Peter tried to lunge for him, but the woman's grip was strong.

"He'll be fine. Come on." She hauled him forward, dragging him behind her as she ran.

What did she mean, 'he'll be fine?'

Wade screamed when the giant grabbed one of his arms. Peter screamed with him as, with a sharp yank to the side, the monster ripped his lover's arm clean off his shoulder.

In that moment, with blood spurting from Wade's side, Peter felt time wind down until every breath felt like an hour.

"Wade!" He clenched his eyes with the force of his scream. Behind his lids, he had a vision.

He sat in a chair beneath a bright light in a dark room. He was looking down at his upturned arm, while Spiderman made the incision.

"The tracer will monitor all vitals," Spiderman said, "With it, you'll be able to record everything that happens, but it has one more function."

Shadows moved in the darkness of the room beyond the glaring light. He could just barely make them out, echoes of Wade pushing him in the apartment.

"I want you to hit me, Petey, as hard as you can."

"The tracer is also a failsafe," Spiderman continued, "In case things go wrong. I leave its trigger in your hands. All you require is the activation phrase."

Peter watched his friend slip the tracer beneath his skin.

Peter opened his eyes and saw his beloved dangling while his voice resounded in his head.

"I can't guarantee I'll always be there. If we get separated, if I'm overwhelmed and can't reach you, if any of a thousand variables goes wrong, I need you to be willing and able to fight."

"I am," Peter stumbled, his shoes catching on an uneven cobblestone.

"Damn it, Parker. We have to go."

With time still wound tight, he watched the giant clasp both hands around Wade's neck. "I am…"

"Falcon," the woman yelled, "Parker is unresponsive. I need an emergency pickup."

Peter pulled against her. Rage burned inside his heart. Its smoke routed the fear. Its roar quieted the ceaseless ring. All that mattered was Wade.

"I am the Night Spider!"

"What?" He saw the woman turn in the corner of his eye. The tracer in his arm burned as bright as the sun. He exhaled. It discharged its payload into his veins and sent a shock throughout his nervous system.

Spider fixed his attention on the giant. Keeping his center of gravity low, he kicked into a lunge with all his strength. The cobblestones moved so fast beneath him that for a moment it felt like he flew. He lunged again with the second step, and the third, building up speed until the giant could almost touch him. Kicking up his heels, he rotated parallel to the ground, brought his knees to his chest, and thrust his feet out as soon as he felt the giant's mass against the soles of his shoes.

Wade's assailant dropped him as he hurtled through the air and crashed into a building thirty meters away. With the last bit of contact, Spider kicked his feet up and flipped back to land, legs crouched, hands on the ground.

The new shoes were molten globs around his feet.

His lover landed hard on his bleeding side, his head flopping like a ragdoll's over his shoulders. At last, it settled on the cobblestones, the dead eyes of his mask staring back at him.

"Deadpool," Spider shouted, "Are you okay? Fuck you, answer me. Deadpool!"

The giant screamed his rage and stood in the gaping hole in the wall. Spider snarled, "You did this to him." He tore the off footwear where he stood. The giant crossed into the daylight.

Palms pressed to the ground, Spider clung and brought his strength to bear. The cobblestones cracked as the giant started forward. Snarling, he redoubled his effort and stood, pulling up two massive chunks of masonry and soil. Spinning around, Spider flung the first at the giant with all his strength. It flew straight and hit with the force of a cannon. Continuing the rotation, he followed it with the other.

The giant staggered.

Spider charged. Springing over his head, he flipped and landed a kick to the base of his neck that sent him lunging forward. He caught his fall on his hand, clung, and rolled with it back. He tore up another chunk of masonry with his momentum and pelted the giant with it.

Wade's assailant got angry. He was everything Spider ought to fear, but in this moment he only felt the rage mingled with exhilaration, knowing this lumbering stump couldnevercatch him.

They engaged. Spider gave no quarter. The tingle that always tickled him before was an electric vortex that surrounded him. It was more than just a sense of danger. He couldfeeleach attack coming hours before they'd connect. It became a dance: move and countermove, lead and follow.

The giant swung down. He danced under his reach, clung to his arm, leaped up and over onto his massive shoulders. 'Should have worn shorts,' he thought. He couldn't cling through the thick denim of his new jeans. 'Guess wade will have to get used to the homeless look after all.'

Even so, he caught the giant's sides with his big toes, and that was all he needed.

"It's over," Spider shouted. Reaching his arm around the giant's neck, he caught his wrist with the other hand andpulled. The giant croaked and gasped, grasping at Spider's tiny arm as he dug it into the monster's jugular.

Over the giant's shoulder, Spider saw Deadpool flounder and prop his chest up on his good arm, neck craning up to stare at him, "Peter?"

Spider bared his teeth in a grin at him, "You said you wanted me to fight." Kicking his feet up, he planted them in the small of the giant's back for greater advantage and pulled. There was a sharp pop, and the metal body beneath him collapsed.

Spider let go of his neck and rode him down like a skateboard. Dismounting, he went to his lover's side. "Don't move," he slipped his arm under Wade's chest to support him, "Where are you hurt?"

"Fuck, Pete. Where did that… How?" He let Spider bear some of his weight as he pulled a crooked leg forward, "Damn, that was… I thought was hallucinating. I think fucking I came. I'm not hallucinating, am I?"

Spider huffed out a relieved chuckle and kissed the side of his head, "You're missing your arm, Love. I wish you were hallucinating."

"Huh," he rolled his head to his bleeding side, "Ah, fuck the arm. It'll grow back. That," he lurched up onto his knees, arm braced on Spider's shoulders, "That was…" Spider felt the charge before Deadpool's focus shifted over his shoulder. With a gentle pat, he pushed Deadpool back onto his haunches as his sense of time dialed down.

Sensing the attack leaning to the side, he jumped off with the far foot and twisted his hips to rotate. Hooking his bent leg under the extended arm, Spider kicked his straight leg out to give forward momentum to the rotation. His knee caught under the giant's shoulder, bringing him around to straddle the man's back. With the giant's other arm cocked back, it was a simple matter of aim to hook his heel under his elbow.

With a metal arm under each leg, Spider flexed his glutes and snapped the giant's arms behind his back. "You should have stayed down," he growled. Tearing the mask off, Spider planted both palms on his face and clung.

"What the hell?" Deadpool murmured.

"You hurt the one I love," Spider applied his strength, pulling on the metal face as he had pulled up the cobblestones from the ground. "I let that happen once before. It will never happen again."

The giant yelled and jerked around, muscles flexing against Spider's but he wouldn't yield. That yell became a scream as the first piece of metal flesh tore.

Through the cling, Spider felt the fusion of flesh take effect. He felt the tear of flesh and the pressure on the arms as if they were his own, but that didn't stop him. The pain was not his concern. If anything, the absence he felt of anything else bade him pull harder. There was no projection of fear or anger from this creature, nor sense of intent or intelligence. This was not a person, but a hollow husk of a creature.

If there was a want of anything at all, it was the want to die.

A distant light danced in his vision, like a star. The pain of splitting flesh echoed from that star, and with it, it carried something more.

"Help me."

"Peter!"

Wade's scream was the last thing he heard.

SSS-

"Petey," he whispered, not daring to touch the pulped and bloodied flesh, "Baby, can you hear me. Come on say something. Anything. Please." He felt the fabric of his mask begin to cling to his face, but at that moment, he didn't care.

Chapter Text

"What the hell?"

Deadpool gaped up at the metal giant when Peter tore the thin hood off his head.

"Colossus?"

What the fucking hell?

How are there five of him?

"You hurt the one I love," Peter… No, this wasn't Peter. Peter was timid and gentle. He was Mr. I'd-rather-risk-my-life-than-take-a-fucking.

It's Spider.

You hope it's Spider! How do we know this isn't someone else?

"I let that happen once before."

'No. It's him. He remembered us. He called us Love.'

But he's an exotic dancer with an attitude. Where the hell is this coming from?

Has he always had this much power?

He stared as Spider leaned in to snarl in Colossus' ear, "It will never happen again."

Holy Shit!

With his bare hands plastered to the side of the mutant's face, he pulled. The living metal alloy stretched tight. Colossus' eyes and mouth opened wide, and then Wade's friend let out a wordless scream as splits appeared on his brow, nose, and chin.

Beyond them, the other… What are they? Duplicates? Clones? Androids?

Whatever they are, they sure as fuck hit like the real thing.

Wait. Didn't Spider pop our guy's neck just a minute ago?

Yeah. What of it?

Colossus doesn't have a healing factor. He doesn't need it.

Oh… Well, Shit.

The other duplicates let loose a unanimous scream of rage, broke combat with the Avengers and charged Spider. The Avengers pursued, shooting everything they had to try to stop them. Through the cacophony, Deadpool heard the whistle of metal and saw Captain's shield hurtle through the air at the duplicates. It ricocheted from one to the next, stunning them long enough for the team to descend upon them.

One escaped the captain's assault, though.

"Peter!"

No good. His lover's eyes were the black pools of the transported.

"NO!" He lunged, but it was already too late. The duplicate ripped Peter from the other's back and smashed him into the ground. The other guy – the one with the torn face – caught Wade in the crook of his arm and slammed him into the wall, crushing his chest and skewering him on rebars sticking out of the broken wall

Then a deafening roar blanketed the screaming cacophony. A green fist grabbed Deadpool's guy and threw him back into the others.

The Hulk ripped through the duplicates, pounding and smashing them until, one by one, they either died or passed out, reverting back to their fleshy forms.

Deadpool hardly cared. Unable to move or breath, he could just hang there while his factor did its job, and stare at Peter's crushed, bleeding, unmoving body.

"Parker," Widow ran to him, her hand to Peter's neck.

"How is he?" America jogged up to them.

"He's alive. We need a medical evac, now."

He's alive.

He's alive.

'Barely.'

Vision floated over to him and pulled him off the wall. He held Deadpool up while the mercenary coughed blood into his mask and tore the lower half off so he could breathe. Stumbling, he pushed away from the avenger and crawled over the broken cobblestones to Peter's body.

"Petey," he whispered, not daring to touch the pulped and bloodied flesh, "Baby, can you hear me. Come on say something. Anything. Please." He felt the fabric of his mask begin to cling to his face, but at that moment, he didn't care.

The world rushed around him as people began to fill up the space. He distantly heard the cut of choppers in the air, felt their wind against his face. A man knelt next to Peter. Wade almost snapped his arm until he recognized Banner. The doctor said something, but the words were lost on him. Only his calm, gentle tone penetrated the haze.

He knelt there, while medics eased Peter onto a stretcher and began to strap him down.

"Hey," something shoved him in the shoulder. Deadpool looked up at Ironman, "I'm calling you, Deadpool."

"What do you want, Stark?" he answered, listless. He still didn't have the strength of will to stand.

"Tell me you know someone named Graveside. He's blowing up my phone and keeps asking for you."

"Graveside?" Wade frowned, and then checked his belt. Not that he expected his phone to survive the assault, but he was surprised to find the belt gone completely.

"So I can tell this guy, once and for all, to fuck off?" Tony asked.

Wade shook his head and climbed to his feet while the medics started rolling Peter toward an airlift. "No. I'll take the call." He held out his hand and Tony lifted both of his.

"The suite doesn't exactly have a detachable cell phone. I'm not normally playing operator, but I'll make an exception this time."

Wade looked up at him, "Is he on the line now?"

"Yes," he held up his finger, "Patch him through, Friday. Yes. Yes, he's here. Listen, you either go through me, or you find another phone number to blow up. I got nothing else for you." Wade tried to shake off some of the shock, but he still felt like everything was moving through a sticky fog.

"All right. One second," Tony looked up, "He wants me to remind you about the failsafe you've been briefed on."

"Failsafe?"

"Yeah. He says Parker used it in order to negate the suppression, whatever that means. But apparently, there's some sort of drawback."

That cut through some of the fog. "What kind of drawback?"

"He says that without the suppressants, Parker's condition is going unchecked. Says he needs to be put back under as soon as possible. Something about a 'night dose'?"

"The night dose?" The last of the fog gave way to outrage, "Are you fucking kidding me, Graveside?" He grabbed Ironman's suit with his good hand and yelled down into the man's open helmet, "You're supposed to be watching him. If we give him that shit now, it will kill him."

Tony pushed his hand away, glaring at him, "He says he's working blind. The implant was destroyed when the failsafe went off. He wants to know…" he cut himself off and looked to the side. "Parker's in critical condition. We're about to airlift him to the Avengers' Medical Facility."

Wade held his breath as Tony listened, and felt his heart squeeze when the Avenger's expression turned grim. He met Wade's eye, "He says that if the injuries don't kill him, the cancer will. If he's going to make it through the night, it will be without his healing factor."

Wade ground his teeth and fisted his hand so hard it shook, "Fine. Tell him to have Richardson stand by at his office for pickup. Have him pack whatever he needs."

"Did you get that?" Tony asked into his helmet, then nodded and looked at Wade, "He's gone. Who's Richardson?"

Wade pulled his lips into a sneer, "Parker's doctor. Hey!" He shouted to the bustling SHIELD agents, "Somebody, give me a cell phone."

He grabbed the first phone to appear in his field of vision and ran up the ramp to catch the flight with Peter. Seated, he dialed the number.

"Dopinder's transport service. How can I serve your travel needs?"

"Hey, Buddy. It's Pool. Yeah, I know. I sorta lost my phone. Anyway, listen… I'm calling in a solid 'you-owe-me'."


End file.
